34  ;\ 


IVAN   TURGENIEFF 


Volume  X 


THE  JEW  «  AND 
OTHER   STORIES 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STORIES  OF 
IVAN   TURGENIEFF 


THE  JEW  ->  AND 

OTHER  STORIES 


TRANSLATED   FROM    ^^r:    RUSSIAN    BY 
ISABEL   F.   H  aPGOOD 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Suddenly,  Sara  entered,  alone. 
From  a  drarving  by  CH.   WEBER  DITZLER. 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STORIES  OF 
IVAN    TURGENIEFF 


THE  JEW  <-  AND 
OTHER  STORIES 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE    RUSSIAN    BY 
ISABEL   F.  HAPGOOD 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
Charles   Scribner's  Sons 


PREFACE 

i 

The  story  of  "  The  Jew,"  written  in  1846,  was 
regarded  by  the  Russian  critics  as  being  distin- 
guished for  its  simpHcity  of  plot,  and  its  con- 
scientious realism, — especially  in  the  portrait  of 
Hirschel, — but  not  as  of  great  importance.  It 
evoked  attacks  upon  the  author  from  the  Jews. 

"  Andrei  Kolosoif ,"  TurgenieiF's  first  short 
story,  was  constructed— said  the  Russian  critics— 
strictly  in  accordance  with  the  views  which,  at  that 
epoch  (1844),  were  regarded  as  new  and  just. 
The  author,  then  a  government  official,  employed 
most  of  his  time  in  reading  George  Sand's  nov- 
els, and  the  traces  of  her  influence  are  perceptible 
throughout  this  story.  One  critic  objects  that  the 
author's  view  of  his  first  hero  is — in  spite  of  its 
poetical  coloring — unnatural,  illogical,  inhuman, 
unfaithful  to  reality,  and  that  it  does  not  conform 
to  the  character  of  KolosofF  as  portrayed  in  the 
story.  He  maintains  that  no  one  would  have  tol- 
erated the  remarkable  and  incomparable  KolosoiF 
in  ordinary  healthy  life,  because  he  was  ab- 
normal ;  and  his  abnormality  gave  rise  to  the  same 
thing  in  all  the  other  characters  of  the  story. 
Byelinsky,  the  most  famous  of  Russian  critics, 

V 


PREFACE 

said  of  it,  three  years  after  it  was  published,  that 
although  it  contained  many  fine  sketches  and 
characters  from  Russian  life  yet,  as  a  novel,  it 
was,  on  the  whole,  so  strange,  incomplete,  and 
clumsy  that  very  few  people  had  noticed  its  good 
points. 

Of  "  The  Bully  "  it  was  said  by  one  prominent 
critic,  that  TurgeniefP  had  indirectly  helped  to 
dethrone  the  native-born  Byrons  who  were  in 
high  favour  at  the  time  of  its  appearance,  in  the 
eyes  of  Russian  society,  by  representing  Lutch- 
kofF  as  a  bad  man.  In  this  respect  Turgenieff 
was  in  sympathy  with  the  times.  People  were 
rising  in  protest  against  the  all-conquering  heroes 
of  the  '20s  and  '30s  of  the  last  century.  And  yet 
it  was  not  altogether  an  easy  matter,  even  then 
(1846),  to  present  that  aspect  of  the  case  to  the 
public,  while  Petchorin  (the  hero  of  Lermon- 
tofF's  celebrated  "  A  Hero  of  Our  Times  ")  still 
enjoyed  great  credit  in  literature  and  society. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  Petchorin  ideal  there 
had  sprung  up  all  over  the  land  a  great  crop  of 
trivial,  insipid,  conceited,  and  coarse-minded  fops 
and  ne'er-do-wells,  who  imagined  that  they  be- 
longed to  the  "  rapacious  "  type.  In  the  same 
way,  long  afterward,  TurgeniefF's  novel  "  Fa- 
thers and  Children  "  produced  a  huge  crop  of 
coarse  and  ignorantly-uncivilised  idlers,  who  fan- 
cied that  they  were  BazarofFs,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  the  author  had  ridiculed  such  imita- 

vi 


PREFACE 

tions  in  advance,  in  the  character  of  Sitnikoff  in 
that  same  novel.  Turgenieff,  in  "  The  Bully," 
turned  the  Petchorin  type  inside  out,  so  to  speak, 
and  thereby  annihilated  it. 

"  Pyetushkoff  "  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  au- 
thor's most  unsuccessful  efforts.  One  critic,  while 
admitting  that  the  idea  of  depicting  the  inebria- 
tion of  love  experienced  for  the  first  time  in  a 
simple-minded  and  indolent  man,  is  worthy  of 
Gogol,  yet  declares  that  Turgenieff  reflects,  in 
feeble  fashion,  that  great  humorist's  views,  man- 
ner, and  even  the  peculiarities  of  his  style, — quite 
involuntarily  however.  Another  critic  compares 
the  author's  attitude  toward  his  hero  and  the  lat- 
ter's  sad  but  absurd  love  to  that  of  Dostoievsky 
toward  his  hero,  Makar  Dyevushkin  (in  *'  Poor 
People"). 

In  "  The  Two  Friends  "  there  is  no  longer  per- 
ceptible any  trace  of  the  influence  of  George  Sand, 
Byron,  or  the  Gogol  element  taken  from  the  mis- 
anthropic point  of  view,  say  the  Russian  critics. 
Vyazovnin  is  thoroughly  Russian,  and  as  com- 
pletely a  "  superfluous  man  "  as  Tchulkaturin.* 
He  represents  the  average  type  of  discontented 
people— the  "  golden  mean,"— well-intentioned, 
easily  bored,  easily  incited  to  enthusiasm,  easily 
swayed  in  various  directions.  The  sketches  of  life 
are  capital,  simple  as  is  the  plot. 

In  its  original  form  the  story  ended  with  Vya- 

iSee  "The  Diary  of  a  Superfluous  Man,"  Vol.  XL— TiiANSLAToa. 

•  • 

VU 


PREFACE 

zovnin's  accidental  death  by  drowning;  he  was 
represented  as  falling  from  the  deck  of  the 
steamer.  In  later  editions  Turgenieff  extended 
the  story  considerably,  and  rendered  it  much  more 
artistic ;  for  only  a  limp  and  characterless  Russian 
of  the  "  intelligent "  class,  idly  roaming  over  the 
Western  Europe  beloved  of  his  heart,  could  die  as 
Vyazovnin  does  in  the  duel  with  the  strange 
Frenchman.  The  pages  in  which  this  duel  is  de- 
scribed belong,  says  one  critic,  among  Turge- 
nieif 's  best,  and  possess  in  addition  this  interest— 
that  the  artist,  who  was  regarded  by  many  and 
who  regarded  himself  as  a  pure-blooded  advocate 
of  Western  things  and  methods,  here  depicts  the 
French  with  unconcealed  ferocity  and  scorn  for 
certain  truly  revolting  and  wretched  qualities  in 
their  national  character. 

I.  F.  H. 


viu 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE   JEW 1 

ANDREI    KOLOSOFF 33 

THE    BULLY 89 

PYETUSHKOFF 173 

THE   TWO   FRIENDS '    .     .  251 


THE  JEW 

(1846) 


THE  JEW 

PRAY,  tell  us  a  story,  Colonel,"  we  said  at 
last  to  Nikolai  Ilitch.  The  Colonel  smiled, 
emitted  a  stream  of  tobacco-smoke  through  his 
moustache,  passed  his  hand  over  his  grey  hair, 
stared  at  us,  and  meditated.  We  all  loved  and  re- 
spected Nikolai  Ilitch  extremely  for  his  kind- 
heartedness,  his  sound  sense,  and  his  indulgence 
toward  us  youngsters.  He  was  tall  of  stature, 
broad-shouldered,  and  corpulent.  His  swarthy 
face,  "  one  of  the  glorious  Russian  faces,"  ^  his 
frank-spirited,  clever  gaze,  his  gentle  smile,  his 
manly  and  resonant  voice — everything  about  him 
pleased  and  attracted. 

"  Well,  then,  listen," — he  began. 

It  happened  in  the  year  '13,  before  Dantzig.  I 
was  then  serving  in  the  E**  cuirassier  regiment, 
and,  as  I  recall  it,  had  just  been  promoted  to  the 
rank  of  cornet.  'T  is  a  merry  occupation,— 
fighting  and  marching, — a  fine  thing,  but  in 
the  besieging  force  things  were  very  dull.  You 
sit  all  God's  day  in  some  lodgment  or  other,  un- 
der a  tent,  in  the  mud  or  straw,  and  play  cards 

1  Lermontoflf,  in  "  The  Treasurer's  Wife." 

3 


THE  JEW 

from  morning  till  night.  Perhaps,  out  of  sheer 
tedium,  you  go  out  to  take  a  look  at  the  way  the 
hot  shot  or  the  bombs  are  flying. 

At  first  the  French  comforted  us  with  sallies, 
but  they  soon  quieted  down.  Riding  on  foraging 
expeditions  got  tiresome  also;  in  a  word,  such 
boredom  descended  upon  us  that  we  were  fit  to 
howl.  I  was  only  in  my  nineteenth  year  then; 
I  was  a  healthy  youngster,  with  a  complexion 
of  blood  and  milk,  and  I  thought  I  would  amuse 
myself  at  the  expense  of  the  French,  and  at  the 
expense  of  ...  .  well,  you  understand  .  .  .  but 
this  is  what  came  of  it.  For  lack  of  something 
to  do,  I  took  to  gambling.  One  day,  after  losing 
frightfully,  luck  turned  in  my  favour,  and  to- 
ward morning  (we  were  playing  by  night),  I 
had  won  heavily.  Exhausted  and  sleepy,  I 
emerged  into  the  open  air  and  sat  down  on  the 
glacis.  It  was  a  magnificent,  calm  morning;  the 
long  lines  of  our  fortifications  were  lost  in  the 
mist;  I  looked  about  me,  then  fell  into  a  doze 
where  I  sat.  A  cautious  cough  awakened  me; 
I  opened  my  eyes  and  beheld  before  me  a  Jew, 
about  forty  years  of  age,  in  a  long-skirted  grey 
kaftan,  shoes,  and  a  black  skull-cap.  This  Jew, 
Hirschel  by  name,  was  constantly  haunting  our 
camp,  intruding  himself  on  the  agents,  furnish- 
ing us  with  wine,  edibles,  and  other  trifles;  he 
was  small  of  stature,  thin,  pock-marked,  and 
red-haired;  he  was  incessantly  winking  his  tiny 

4 


THE  JEW 

eyes,  which  were  also  red ;  he  had  a  long,  crooked 
nose,  and  was  eternally  coughing. 

He  began  to  wriggle  about  in  front  of  me, 
and  make  low  bows. 

"  Well,  what  dost  thou  want?  "—I  asked  him 
at  last. 

"  Why,  sir,  I  came  to  inquire,  sir,  whether  I 
could  not  supply  their  ^  Well-Born  with  some- 
thing. ..." 

"  I  have  no  need  of  thee;  begone." 

"  As  you  command,  sir,  as  you  like,  sir.  .  .  . 
I  thought  that,  possibly,  there  was  something, 
sir  ...  . 

"  Thou  borest  me;  begone,  I  tell  thee." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  sir.  But  permit  me  to 
congratulate  their  Well-Born  on  their  win- 
nings. .  .  ." 

"  How  dost  thou  know  about  that?  " 

"  And  why  should  n't  I  know,  sir?  ...  .  Big 
winnings  ....  big.  .  .  .  Phew!  how  big!  .  .  .  ." 

Hirschel  spread  out  his  fingers  widely,  and 
nodded  his  head. 

"But  what  's  the  good  of  it?  "—I  said  with 
vexation.—"  What  the  devil  is  the  use  of  money 
here? " 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  your  Well-Born;  ai*,  ai, 
don't  say  that.  Money  is  a  good  thing;  't  is 
always  useful;     everything    can     be     had     for 

1  "Their"  (instead  '*  of  your  ")  Well-Born  indicates  profound  re- 
spect.    The  Jew  talks  broken  Russian. — Teanslatoh. 


THE   JEW 

money,    your    Weil-Born, — everything,    every- 
thing ! " 

"Stop  lying,  Jew!" 

"  Ai,  ai!" — repeated  Hirschel,  shaking  his 
ear-locks; — "their  Well-Born  does  not  believe 
me  ...  ai ....  ai ...  .  ai.  ..."  The  Jew  shut  his 
eyes  and  slowly  shook  his  head  to  the  right 
and  left.  ..."  But  I  know  what  the  Mr.  Offi- 
cer would  like.  ...  I  know  ....  indeed  I 
know!" 

The  Jew  assumed  a  very  cunning  aspect.  .  .  . 

"  ReaUy? " 

The  Jew  cast  a  timid  glance  about  him,  then 
bent  toward  me. 

"  Such  a  beauty,  your  Well-Born,  such  a 
beauty!"  .  .  .  Again  Hirschel  closed  his  eyes, 
and  protruded  his  lips. — "  Give  the  command, 
your  Well-Born  .  .  .  you  shall  see  for  your- 
self .  .  .  what  I  shall  say  now  you  will  hear 
....  you  will  not  believe  it  ...  .  but  you  had 
better  command  me  to  show  you  ....  that  's 
how,  that  's  what!  " 

I  made  no  answer,  and  stared  at  the  Jew. 

"Well,  good,  then;  well,  that  's  good;  well 
now,  I  '11  show  you.  ..."  Here  Hirschel  burst 
out  laughing  and  slapped  me  lightly  on  the  shoul- 
der, but  immediately  leaped  back,  as  though  he 
had  been  singed. 

"  Well,  now,  your  Well-Born,  how  about  a 
little  deposit? " 


THE  JEW 

"  But  thou  wilt  cheat  me,  or  show  me  some 
scarecrow?  " 

*' A'l,  vai,  what  are  you  saying?" — exclaimed 
the  Jew,  with  unwonted  warmth,  and  flourishing 
his  arms. — "How  is  it  possible?  But  do  you, 
your  Well-Born  ....  command  that  I  be 
given  five  hundred  ....  four  hundred  and 
fifty  blows  with  a  stick," — he  added  hastily.  .  . 
"  Do  you  give  the  command.  ..." 

At  that  moment,  one  of  my  comrades  raised 
the  edge  of  the  tent,  and  called  me  by  name.  I 
hastily  rose,  and  tossed  the  Jew  a  ducat. 

"  This  evening,  this  evening," — he  mumbled 
after  me. 

I  must  confess  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  I 
awaited  the  evening  with  some  impatience.  On 
that  same  day  the  French  made  a  sally ;  our  regi- 
ment went  to  the  attack.  Evening  drew  on;  we 
seated  ourselves  round  the  camp-fires  .  .  .  the 
soldiers  cooked  the  buckwheat  groats. — Discus- 
sions began.  I  lay  on  my  hurka}  and  listened  to 
my  comrades'  tales.  They  proposed  to  me  to 
play  cards.  I  refused.  I  was  in  a  state  of  agi- 
tation. Little  bj^  little  the  officers  dispersed  to 
their  tents;  the  fires  began  to  die  out;  the  sol- 
diers also  had  scattered,  or  fallen  asleep  on  the 
spot ;  everything  was  quiet.  I  did  not  rise.  My 
orderly  was  squatting  on  his  heels  before  the 

1 A  large  Caucasian  circular  cloak,  of  heavy,  impenetrable, 
shaggy  felt.  — Thaxslatoh. 


THE  JEW 

fire  and,  as  the  saying  is,  "  catching  fish."— I 
drove  him  away.  Soon  the  whole  camp  had 
grown  silent.  The  watch  made  its  round.  The 
sentries  were  changed.  I  still  lay  there  and 
waited  for  something.  The  stars  came  out. 
Night  had  come.  For  a  long  time  I  gazed  at  the 
expiring  flame  ....  the  last  tiny  spark  died 
out  at  last.  "  The  damned  Jew  has  deceived  me," 
I  thought  with  vexation,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
rising.  .  .  . 

"  Your  Well-Born  .  .  .  ."  whispered  an  anx- 
ious voice  above  my  very  ear. 

I  looked  round :  it  was  Hirschel.  He  was  very 
pale,  and  stammered  and  lisped. 

"  Please  go  to  your  tent,  sir." 

I  rose  and  followed  him.  The  Jew  was  all 
shrunk  together,  and  trod  cautiously  on  the  short, 
damp  grass.  I  noticed  on  one  side  a  motionless, 
muffled  figure.  The  Jew  waved  his  hand  at  it — 
it  approached  him.  He  whispered  with  it,  turned 
to  me,  nodded  his  head  several  times,  and  all  three 
of  us  entered  the  tent.  Absurd  to  say,  I  was 
choking. 

"  Here,  your  Well-Born," — whispered  the 
Jew  with  an  effort:  "  here.  She  's  a  little  fright- 
ened now,  she  's  frightened;  but  I  have  told  her 
that  the  Mr.  Officer  is  a  good  man,  a  fine  man. 
.  .  .  And  thou  must  not  be  afraid,  must  not  be 
afraid," — he  added, — "  must  not  be  afraid.  .  .  ." 

The  muffled  figure  did  not  stir.    I  myself  was 

8 


THE   JEW 

in  a  terrible  state  of  confusion,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  saj\  Hirschel  kept  dancing  up  and 
down  in  one  place,  and  throwing  his  hands  apart 
in  a  strange  sort  of  way.  .  .  . 

"  But," — I  said  to  him,  "  leave  the  tent.  .  .  ." 

Hirschel  obeyed  with  apparent  unwillingness. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  muffled  figure  and  gently 
removed  the  dark  hood  from  its  head.  There  was 
a  conflagration  in  Dantzig;  by  the  reddish,  spas- 
modic and  feeble  reflection  of  the  distant  fii'e  I 
beheld  the  pale  face  of  a  young  Jewess.  Her 
beauty  startled  me.  I  stood  before  her  and  gazed 
at  her  in  silence.  She  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  A 
faint  rustle  made  me  glance  round.  Hirschel 
was  cautiously  thrusting  his  head  past  the  flap 
of  the  tent.  I  waved  my  hand  at  him  in  irritation 
...  he  disappeared. 

"  What  is  thv  name?  " — I  said  at  last. 

**  Sara,"  she  replied, — and  for  one  instant  the 
whites  of  her  large,  long  eyes,  and  her  little,  even, 
gleaming  teeth  flashed  in  the  gloom. 

I  seized  two  leather  cushions,  threw  them  on 
the  ground,  and  asked  her  to  sit  down.  She 
flung  ofl*  her  cloak  and  seated  herself.  She  wore 
a  short  kazak  jacket,  open  in  front,  with  round, 
carved  silver  buttons,  and  wide  sleeves.  Her 
thick  black  braid  of  hair  encircled  her  little  head 
twice.  I  sat  down  beside  her,  and  took  her  dark- 
skinned,  slender  hand.  She  resisted  a  little,  but 
seemed  to  be  afraid  to  look  at  me,  and  her  breath 

9 


THE  JEW 

came  unevenly.    I  admired  her  Oriental  profile — 
and  timidly  pressed  her  cold,  trembling  fingers. 

"  Dost  thou  understand  Russian?  " 

"  Yes  ...  a  little." 

"And  dost  thou  love  the  Russians?" 

*'  Yes,  I  do." 

"  So,  then,  thou  lovest  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  love  you,  also." 

I  tried  to  embrace  her,  but  she  hastily  moved 
away.  .  .  . 

"  No,  no,  please,  master,  please.  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  then,  look  at  me,  at  least." 

She  fixed  on  me  her  black,  piercing  eyes,  and 
immediately  turned  away  with  a  smile  and 
blushed. 

I  kissed  her  hand  fervently.  She  cast  a  side- 
long glance  at  me,  and  broke  into  a  soft  laugh. 

"  What  art  thou  laughing  at?  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  sleeve  and 
laughed  more  heartily  than  before.  Hirschel 
made  his  appearance  at  the  entrance  to  the  tent, 
and  shook  his  finger  at  her.    She  fell  silent. 

"  Get  out!  "  I  whispered  to  him  through  my 
teeth.—"  I  'm  tired  of  thee!  " 

Hirschel  did  not  withdraw. 

I  got  a  handful  of  ducats  out  of  my  chest, 
thrust  them  into  his  hand,  and  pushed  him  out. 

"  Give  me  some,  too,  master.  .  ."  said  she. 

I  tossed  several  ducats  into  her  lap;  she 
snatched  them  up  nimbly,  like  a  cat. 

10 


<( 


THE  JEW 

Well,  now  I  shall  kiss  thee." 
No,  please,  please," — she  lisped  in  a  fright- 
ened and  beseeching  voice. 

"  What  dost  thou  fear?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid." 

"  Come,  enough  of  that.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  please.  ." 

She  gazed  timidly  at  me,  bent  her  head  a  little 
on  one  side,  and  clasped  her  hands.  I  left  her  in 
peace. 

"  If  thou  wishest  .  .  .  here,"  she  said,  after  a 
considerable  pause,  and  raised  her  hand  to  my 
lips. 

I  kissed  it  not  altogether  willingly.  Again 
Sara  burst  out  laughing. 

My  blood  choked  me.  I  was  vexed  at  myself 
and  did  not  know  what  to  do.  "  But,"  I  thought 
at  last,  "  what  a  fool  I  am!  " 

I  turned  to  her  again. 

"  Hearken,  Sara,  I  'm  in  love  with  thee." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Thou  knowest  it?  And  thou  art  not  angry? 
And  dost  thou  love  me?  " 

Sara  nodded  her  head. 

"  No,  answer  me  properly." 

"  Show  yourself,"— said  she. 

I  bent  toward  her.  Sara  laid  her  hands  on  my 
shoulders,  began  to  scan  my  face,  frowned, 
smiled.  ...  I  could  not  restrain  mj^self  and 
swiftly  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.     She  sprang  up, 

11 


THE  JEW 

and  with  one  bound  was  at  the  entrance  to  the 
tent. 

"  Well,  what  a  savage  thou  art!  " 

She  made  no  reply,  and  did  not  stir  from  the 
spot. 

"  Come  hither  to  me.  ..." 

"No,  master;  farewell.     Until  another  time." 

Again  Hirschel  thrust  in  his  little  curly  head 
and  said  a  couple  of  words  to  her;  she  bent  down 
and  glided  out  like  a  serpent. 

I  rushed  out  of  the  tent  after  her,  but  saw 
neither  her  nor  Hirschel. 

All  night  long  I  could  not  get  to  sleep. 

On  the  following  morning  we  were  sitting  in 
the  tent  of  our  captain;  I  was  gambling,  but 
reluctantly.    My  orderly  entered.  ' 

"  Some  one  is  asking  for  you,  your  Well- 
Born." 

"  Who  wants  me?  " 

"  A  Jew  is  asking  for  you." 

"  Can  it  be  Hirschel? "  I  thought.  I  waited 
until  the  end  of  the  deal,  rose,  and  went  out.  In 
fact,  I  beheld  Hirschel. 

"  Well,"— he  asked  me  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
"  is  your  Well-Born  satisfied?  " 

"Akh,  devil  take  thee!  .  .  ."  (At  this  point 
the  Colonel  glanced  round)  "...  I  think  there 
are  no  ladies  present  .  .  .  however,  never  mind. 
Akh,  damn  thee,  my  dear  fellow,"— I  answered 
him;  "  art  thou  making  game  of  me,  pray?  " 

12 


THE  JEW 


"Why  so,  sir?" 

"  What  meanest  thou  by  '  why  so  '?  I  should 
think  thou  wouldst  ask !  " 

"  Ai,  ai,  Mr.  Officer,  what  a  man  you  are," — 
said  Hirsehel,  reproachfully,  but  without  ceasing 
to  smile. — "  The  girl  is  young,  modest  ....  you 
frightened  her,  really  you  frightened  her." 

"  Fine  modesty!  Then  why  did  she  take  the 
money? " 

"  And  why  not,  sir?  When  money  is  offered, 
sir,  why  not  take  it?  " 

"  Hark  ye,  Hirsehel :  let  her  come  again ;  I  will 
not  let  thee  lose  anything  by  it  .  .  .  only,  be  so 
good  as  not  to  show  thy  stupid  phiz  in  my  tent, 
and  leave  us  in  peace;  hearest  thou?" 

Hirschel's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Well?    And  does  she  please  you?  " 

"  Well,  yes." 

"  A  beauty!  there  's  no  such  beauty  anywhere. 
And  will  you  give  me  the  money  now? " 

"  Take  it;  only,  hearken  to  me:  an  agreement 
is  better  than  money.  Fetch  her,  and  take  thy- 
self off  to  the  devil!  I  '11  conduct  her  home  my- 
self." 

"  But  that  is  impossible,  impossible,  utterly  im- 
possible, sir,"— returned  the  Jew,  hastily. — "  Ai', 
a'l,  utterly  impossible,  sir.  I  will  walk  about  near 
the  tent,  if  you  please,  your  Well-Born;  I  '11 — 
I  '11  go  a  little  way  off,  your  Well-Born,  if  you 
like, . . .  your  Well-Born,  I  'm  ready  to  serve  you; 

13 


THE  JEW 

I  '11  go  off  a  bit,  if  you  please.  . .  .  What  say  you 
to  that?    I  'U  go  off  a  bit." 

"  Well,  see  that  thou  dost.  .  .  .  But  fetch  her, 
hear  est  thou? " 

"  But  she  's  a  beauty,  is  n't  she,  Mr.  Officer? 
hey?  Your  Well-Born?    A  beauty?    Hey?" 

Hirschel  bent  forward,  and  gazed  into  my 
eyes. 

"  She  's  very  nice." 

"  Well,  then,  give  me  just  one  more  little 
ducat.  .  .  ." 

I  flung  him  a  ducat ;  we  parted. 

The  day  came  to  an  end  at  last.  Night  de- 
scended. For  a  long  time  I  sat  alone  in  my 
tent.  The  weather  was  overcast.  The  clock  in 
the  town  struck  two.  I  had  already  begun  to 
curse  the  Jew  .  .  .  when,  suddenly,  Sara  en- 
tered, alone.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  embraced 
her  .  .  .  touched  my  lips  to  her  face.  ...  It 
was  as  cold  as  ice.  I  could  barely  distinguish  her 
features.  ...  I  seated  her,  knelt  down  in  front 
of  her,  took  her  hands,  touched  her  waist.  .  .  . 
She  preserved  silence,  and  did  not  stir,  and  sud- 
denly burst  out  into  loud,  convulsive  sobs.  In  vain 
did  I  strive  to  sooth  her,  to  persuade  her.  .  .  .  She 
sobbed  and  wept.  ...  I  caressed  her,  wiped  away 
her  tears;  as  before,  she  offered  no  resistance, 
did  not  reply  to  my  questions,  and  wept,  wept  in 
torrents.  My  heart  revolted  within  me;  I  rose 
and  left  the  tent. 

14 


THE  JEW 

Hirschel  ducked  up  in  front  of  me,  as  though 
he  had  sprung  out  of  the  earth. 

"  Hirschel,"— I  said  to  him,—"  here  is  the 
money  I  promised  thee.    Take  Sara  away. 

The  Jew  immediately  rushed  to  her.  She  had 
ceased  weeping,  and  clung  to  him. 

"  Good-bye,  Sara,"  I  said  to  her.—"  God  be 
with  thee,  farewell.  We  shall  meet  again  some 
other  time." 

Hirschel  maintained  silence  and  saluted.  Sara 
bent  down,  took  my  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  her 
lips ;  I  turned  away.  ... 

Five  or  six  days,  gentlemen,  I  thought  of  my 
Jewess.  Hirschel  did  not  make  his  appearance, 
and  no  one  had  seen  him  in  the  camp.  At  night 
I  slept  rather  badty:  I  kept  seeing  visions  of 
moist  black  eyes  and  long  lashes;  my  lips  could 
not  forget  the  touch  of  that  cheek,  as  smooth  and 
fresh  as  the  skin  of  a  plum.  I  was  sent  with  a 
detachment  on  a  foraging  expedition  to  a  dis- 
tant hamlet.  While  my  soldiers  were  rummag- 
ing the  houses  I  remained  in  the  street,  and  did 
not  alight  from  my  horse.  Suddenly,  some  one 
seized  me  by  the  foot.  .  .  . 

"Great  heavens,  Sara!" 

She  was  pale  and  agitated. 

"  Mr.  Officer,  mister  ....  help,  save,  the  sol- 
diers are  insulting  us.  .  .  .  Mr.  Officer  .... 

She  recognised  me,  and  flushed  up. 

"  But  dost  thou  live  here?  " 

15 


THE  JEW 


"  Yes." 
"Where?" 


Sara  pointed  out  to  me  a  tiny,  ancient  house. 
I  gave  my  horse  the  spur,  and  galloped  thither. 
In  the  yard  of  the  little  house,  a  hideous,  di- 
shevelled Jewess  was  endeavouring  to  wrest  from 
the  hands  of  my  long  quartermaster,  Silyavka, 
three  chickens  and  a  duck.  He  had  raised  his 
booty  high  above  his  head  and  was  laughing;  the 
chickens  were  cackling,  the  duck  was  quacking. 
.  .  .  Two  other  cuirassiers  had  laden  their  horses 
with  hay,  straw,  and  flour-sacks.  In  the  house 
itself.  Little  Russian  exclamations  and  oaths 
were  audible.  ...  I  shouted  at  my  men  and  or- 
dered them  to  leave  the  Jews  in  peace,  to  take 
nothing  from  them.  The  soldiers  obeyed;  the 
quartermaster  mounted  his  brown  mare,  Pros- 
erpine, or,  as  he  called  her,  "  Prozherpyla,"  and 
rode  out  into  the  street  in  my  wake. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  Sara,  — "art  thou  satisfied 
with  me? " 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  smile. 

"  Where  hast  thou  been  hiding  thyself  all  this 
time? " 

She  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  I  will  come  to  you  to-morrow." 

"  In  the  evening?  " 

"  No,  sir,  in  the  morning." 

"  See  that  thou  dost  not  deceive  me." 

"  No  ....  no,  I  will  not  deceive  thee." 

16 


THE  JEW 

I  gazed  eagerly  at  her.  By  day  she  seemed  to 
be  even  more  beautiful.  I  remember  that  I  was 
particularly  struck  with  the  dull  amber  tint  of 
her  face  and  the  bluish  reflections  of  her  black 
hair.  ...  I  bent  down  from  my  horse,  and 
pressed  her  little  hand  warmly. 

"  Farewell,  Sara  .  .  .  see  that  thou  comest." 

"  I  will  come." 

She  went  home;  I  ordered  my  quartermaster 
to  follow  me  with  the  detachment,  and  galloped 
off. 

On  the  following  day  I  rose  very  early  and 
went  out  of  my  tent.  It  was  a  wondrously  beau- 
tiful morning;  the  sun  had  only  just  risen,  and  a 
moist  crimson  light  sparkled  on  every  blade  of 
grass.  I  mounted  the  high  breastwork  and 
seated  myself  on  the  edge  of  an  embrasure.  Be- 
neath me  a  fat  iron  cannon  thrust  its  black  muzzle 
into  the  fields.  I  gazed  absent-mindedly  on  all 
sides  ....  and  suddenly  beheld,  about  a  hun- 
dred paces  distant,  a  bent  figure  in  a  grey  kaftan. 
I  recognised  Hirschel.  He  stood  for  a  long 
time  motionless  in  one  spot,  then  suddenly  ran 
off  a  little  to  one  side,  cast  a  hasty  and  timorous 
glance  around  him  .  .  .  grunted,  squatted  down, 
cautiously  stretched  out  his  neck,  and  again  be- 
gan to  gaze  about  him,  and  to  listen.  I  could  see 
all  his  movements  with  perfect  distinctness.  He 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast,  drew  out  a  scrap 
of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  began  to  write  or 

17 


THE  JEW 

sketch  something.  Hirschel  kept  incessantly 
pausing,  quivering  like  a  hare,  attentively  scan- 
ning his  surroundings,  and  was  apparently  mak- 
ing a  drawing  of  our  camp.  More  than  once  he 
hid  his  paper,  screwed  up  his  eyes,  sniffed  the 
air,  and  again  bent  to  his  work.  At  last  the  Jew 
squatted  down  on  the  grass,  took  off  his  shoe, 
and  thrust  in  the  paper;  but  before  he  had  man- 
aged to  straighten  himself  up  again,  suddenly, 
ten  paces  from  him,  from  behind  the  slope  of  the 
glacis,  the  moustached  head  of  quartermaster  Si- 
lyavka  made  its  appearance,  and  gradually  his 
whole  long,  clumsy  body  raised  itself  a  little 
from  the  ground.  The  Jew  was  standing  with 
his  back  to  him.  Silyavka  walked  briskly  up  to 
him  and  laid  his  heavy  paw  on  his  shoulder.  Hir- 
schel shrivelled  up.  He  shook  like  a  leaf,  and 
emitted  a  wailing,  hare-like  cry.  Silyavka  spoke 
menacingly  to  him,  and  seized  him  by  the  collar. 
I  could  not  hear  their  conversation,  but  from 
the  despairing  movements  of  the  Jew's  body, 
from  his  beseeching  mien,  I  began  to  divine 
what  the  matter  was.  A  couple  of  times  the  Jew 
flung  himself  at  the  quartermaster's  feet,  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  tattered 
checked  handkerchief,  untied  a  knot  in  it,  and  got 
out  a  ducat.  .  .  .  Silyavka  gravely  accepted  the 
gift,  but  did  not  cease  to  drag  the  Jew  by 
the  collar.  Hirschel  broke  loose  and  darted  to 
one  side;  the  quartermaster  set  out  in  pursuit  of 

18 


THE  JEW 

him.  The  Jew  ran  with  extreme  swiftness;  his 
legs,  clad  in  blue  stockings,  twinkled  very  fast 
indeed,  in  fact;  but  Silyavka,  after  two  or  three 
"  spurts,"  caught  the  squatting  Jew,  lifted  him 
up,  and  carried  him  in  his  arms  straight  toward 
the  camp.    I  rose  and  went  to  meet  him. 

"Ah!  your  Well-Born!  "—shouted  Silyavka: 
"  I  'm  bringing  you  a  spy,— a  spy!  "...  The 
perspiration  poured  in  streams  from  the  face  of 
the  Little  Russian.  — "  Come,  stop  that  wrig- 
gling, thou  devil's  Jew!  stop  it,  I  say  .  .  . 
damn  thee!  if  thou  dost  not,  I  '11  crush  thee — 
lookout!" 

The  unhappy  Hirschel  pushed  feebly  with  his 
elbows  against  Silyavka's  breast,  and  feebly 
kicked  his  legs  about.  .  .  .  His  eyes  rolled  con- 
vulsively upward.  .  .  . 

"  What  's  the  matter?  "—I  inquired  of  Si- 
lyavka. 

"  Why,  here,  your  Well-Born :  please  to  re- 
move the  shoe  from  his  right  foot, — it  's  awkward 
for  me." — He  still  held  the  Jew  in  his  arms. 

I  removed  the  shoe,  took  out  the  carefully- 
folded  bit  of  paper,  unfolded  it,  and  beheld  a  de- 
tailed sketch  of  our  camp.  On  the  margins  stood 
numerous  comments,  written  in  a  very  fine  script, 
in  the  Jewish  tongue. 

In  the  meantime,  Silyavka  had  set  the  Jew 
on  his  legs.  The  Jew  opened  his  eyes,  saw  me, 
and  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before  me. 

19 


THE  JEW 

I  silently  showed  him  the  paper. 

"  What  \  this?" 

"  That  is— just,— Mr.  Officer.  I  just  made 
that  by  chance." — His  voice  broke. 

"Art  thou  a  scout?  " 

He  did  not  understand  me,  muttered  incoher- 
ent words,  and  tremulously  touched  my  knees. .  . , 

"  Art  thou  a  spy?  " 

"  All  "—he  cried  faintly,  and  shook  his  head. 
— "How  is  that  possible?  I  never  was;  I  am 
nothing  of  the  sort.  I  can't  be ;  it  is  n't  possible. 
I  'm  ready.  This  instant.  I  '11  give  money 
....  I  '11  pay," — he  whispered,  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

His  skull-cap  had  fallen  back  on  his  nape;  his 
red  hair,  damp  with  cold  sweat,  hung  in  elf-locks ; 
his  lips  had  turned  blue  and  were  spasmodically 
contorted;  his  brows  were  painfully  contracted; 
his  cheeks  were  sunken.  ... 

The  soldiers  surrounded  us.  At  first  I  had 
felt  like  giving  Hirschel  a  good  fright,  and  or- 
dering Silyavka  to  hold  his  tongue;  but  now  the 
affair  had  become  public,  and  could  not  be  kept 
from  the  knowledge  of  the  authorities. 

"  Conduct  him  to  the  General,"— I  said  to  the 
quartermaster. 

"Mr.  Officer,  your  Well-Born !  "—shrieked 
the  Jew  in  a  voice  of  despair:—"  I  am  not  guilty; 
I  am  not  guilty.  .  .  .  Order  them  to  release  me, 
order  .  .  .  ." 

20 


THE  JEW 

"  His  Excellency  will  settle  that," — said  Si- 
lyavka. — "  Come  along." 

"  Your  Well-Born!  " — the  Jew  screamed  after 
me: — "  give  orders!  have  mercy!  " 

His  shriek  worried  me.     I  hastened  my  steps. 

Our  General  was  a  man  of  G€rman  extrac- 
tion, honourable  and  kind-hearted,  but  a  strict 
executor  of  the  regulations  of  the  service.  I  en- 
tered his  small,  hastily-built  house,  and  in  a  few 
words  explained  to  him  the  cause  of  my  visit.  I 
was  familiar  with  all  the  strictness  of  the  mili- 
tary regulations,  and  therefore  did  not  even  utter 
the  word  "  spy,"  but  endeavoured  to  represent 
the  whole  affair  as  unimportant,  and  not  worth 
attention.  But,  unluckily  for  Hirschel,  the  Gen- 
eral placed  the  fulfilment  of  duty  above  com- 
passion. 

"  Young  man,"— he  said  to  me, — "  you  are  in- 
experienced. You  are,  as  yet,  inexperienced  in 
military  affairs.  The  matter  which  ^  (the  Gen- 
eral was  very  fond  of  the  word  "  which  ")  you 
have  reported  to  me  is  important,  very  import- 
ant. .  .  .  And  where  is  that  man  who  was  cap- 
tured? that  Hebrew?    Where  is  he?  " 

I  went  out  of  the  tent,  and  ordered  the  Jew 
to  be  led  in. 

The  Jew  was  led  in.  The  unhappy  wight 
could  barely  stand  on  his  legs. 

^  The  General  pronounces  it  kStoryi  instead  of 
kotaryi. — Translator. 

21 


THE  JEW 


« 


Yes,"— said  the  General,  turning  to  me: — 
"  and  where  is  that  plan  which  was  found  on  this 
man? 

I  handed  him  the  paper.  The  General  un- 
folded it,  moved  backward,  puckered  up  his  eyes, 
and  contracted  his  brows  in  a  frown. 

"  This  is  a-ma-zing  .  ..."  he  said  with  pauses 
between  the  syllables. — "  Who  arrested  him?  " 

"I,  your  Excellency!  "—blurted  out  Silya- 
vka,  sharply. 

"Ah!  Good!  good!  ....  Well,  my  good 
man,  what  hast  thou  to  say  in  thine  own  de- 
fence?" 

"  Yo  .  .  .  yo  .  .  .  .  your  Excellency,"— stam- 
mered Hirschel: — "  I  .  .  .  .  pray  ....  your  Ex- 
cellency ....  am  not  guilty  .  .  .  ask  the  Sir 
Officer  if  I  am,  your  Excellency.  ...  I  'm  an 
agent,  your  Excellency,  an  honest  agent." 

"  He  must  be  cross-examined," — -said  the  Gen- 
eral in  a  low  voice,  shaking  his  head  pompously. 
— "  Well,  and  what  is  thy  plea,  my  good 
man? 

"  Not  guilty,  your  Excellency,  not  guilty." 

"  But  that  is  incredible.  Thou  hast  been 
caught  deservedly,  as  the  expression  is  in  Rus- 
sian— that  is  to  say,  in  the  very  act!  " 

"  Permit  me  to  say,  your  Excellency,  that  I  am 
not  guilty." 

"  Didst  thou  draw  the  plan?  Art  thou  a  spy 
of  the  enemy? " 

22 


THE  JEW 

« 

"Not  I!"— cried  Hirschel,  suddenly:— "  not 
I,  your  Excellency!  " 

The  General  glanced  at  Silyavka. 

*'  Why,  he  's  lying,  your  Excellency.  The 
Sir  Officer  got  the  document  out  of  his  shoe  him- 
self." 

The  General  looked  at  me.  I  was  compelled 
to  nod  my  head. 

"  Thou  art  a  scout  of  the  enemy,  my  good 
man,  ....  my  good  man.  .  .  ." 

"  Not  I.  .  .  .  Not  I  .  .  .  ."  whispered  the 
distracted  Jew. 

"  Thou  hast  already  furnished  the  enemy  with 
similar  information?     Confess.  .  .  ." 

"  How  is  that  possible!  " 

"  Thou  shalt  not  deceive  me,  my  good  man. 
Art  thou  a  scout?  " 

The  Jew  shut  his  eyes,  shook  his  head,  and 
raised  the  skirts  of  his  kaftan. 

"  Hang  him," — said  the  General  expressively, 
after  a  brief  pause, — "  in  accordance  with  the 
laws.    Where  is  Mr.  Feodor  Schlikelmann?  " 

They  ran  for  Schlikelmann,  the  General's  ad- 
jutant. Hirschel  turned  green,  his  mouth  fell 
open,  his  eyes  protruded.  The  adjutant  pre- 
sented himself.  The  General  gave  him  the  re- 
quisite instructions.  The  regimental  secretary 
showed  his  gaunt,  pock-marked  face  for  a  mo- 
ment. Two  or  three  officers  looked  into  the  room 
out  of  curiosity. 

23 


THE  JEW 


cc 


Have  mercy,  your  Excellency,"— I  said  to 
the  General  in  German,  to  the  best  of  my  ability : 
— "  release  him.  .  .  ." 

"  You,  young  man,"— he  replied  to  me  in 
Russian, — "  you  are  inexperienced,  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  and  therefore  I  beg  that 
you  will  hold  your  peace,  and  not  trouble  me 
further." 

Hirschel  flung  himself  with  a  shriek  at  the 
General's  feet. 

"  Your  Excellency,  have  mercy,  I  won't  do  it 
again — I  won't,  your  Excellency,  I  have  a  wife 
....  your  Excellency,  I  have  a  daughter  .... 
have  mercy.  ..." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"  I  be  guilty,  your  Excellency,  I  be  really 
guilty  ....  for  the  first  time,  your  Excellency, 
for  the  first  time,  believe  me!  " 

"  Thou  hast  not  furnished  any  other  papers?  " 

"  For  the  first  time,  your  Excellency  .... 
a  wife  .  .  .  children  ....  have  mercy.  .  .  ." 

"  But  thou  art  a  spy." 

"  A  wife  ....  your  Excellency  ....  chil- 
dren. ..." 

It  was  very  distasteful  to  the  General,  but 
there  was  no  way  out  of  it. 

"  In  accordance  with  the  laws  the  Jew  must  be 

hanged," — he  said  slowly  and  with  the  aspect  of 

a  man  who  is  forced,  reluctantly,  to  sacrifice  his 

better  feelings  to  inexorable  duty. — "  He  must 

24. 


THE  JEW 

hang!  Feodor  Karlitch,  I  request  that  you  will 
write  a  report  of  these  proceedings,  which  .  .  .  ." 

A  strange  change  suddenly  came  over  Hir- 
schel.  In  place  of  the  tremulous  fear  peculiar 
to  the  Jew,  the  terrible  agony  which  precedes 
death  was  depicted  on  his  countenance.  He 
flung  himself  about  like  a  captured  wild  animal, 
opened  his  mouth,  rattled  dully  in  his  throat,  even 
leaped  up  and  down  on  the  spot,  convulsively 
flourishing  his  elbows.  He  had  but  one  shoe  on; 
they  had  forgotten  to  restore  the  other  to  his  foot ; 
.  .  .  the  breast  of  his  kaftan  flew  open  ...  his 
skull-cap  fell  off.  .  . 

We  all  shuddered ;  the  General  remained  silent. 

"  Your  Excellency," — I  began  again:—"  par- 
don this  unhappy  man." 

"  Impossible.  The  law  enjoins,"— returned 
the  General  abruptly,  and  not  without  emotion: 
— "  he  will  serve  as  an  example  to  others." 

"  For  God's  sake.  .  .  ." 

"  Mr.  Cornet,  be  so  good  as  to  go  to  your  post," 
— said  the  General,  and  pointed  me  to  the  door 
with  a  commanding  gesture. 

I  saluted  and  retired.  But  as  I  had  no  actual 
post  anywhere,  I  lialted  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  General's  little  house. 

Two  minutes  later,  Hirschel  made  his  appear- 
ance accompanied  by  Silyavka  and  three  soldiers. 
The  poor  Jew  was  in  a  state  of  stupor,  and  could 
barely  move  his  legs.    Silyavka  passed  me  on  his 

23 


THE  JEW 

way  to  the  camp,  and  speedily  returned  with  a 
rope  in  his  hands.  Strange,  harsh  compassion 
was  portrayed  on  his  coarse  but  not  mahcious 
face.  At  the  sight  of  the  rope,  the  Jew  dropped  his 
hands  in  despair,  squatted  down,  and  began  to 
sob.  The  soldiers  stood  in  silence  around  him,  and 
stared  grimly  at  the  ground.  I  stepped  up  to 
Hirschel,  and  spoke  to  him;  he  was  sobbing  like 
a  child,  and  did  not  even  look  at  me.  I  waved 
my  hand,  went  off  to  my  own  quarters,  flung  my- 
self on  my  bed,  and  closed  my  eyes.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  some  one  ran  hastily  and  noisily  into 
my  tent.  I  raised  my  head  and  beheld  Sara. 
She  seemed  wild  with  fright.  She  darted  toward 
me,  and  seized  my  hands. 

"  Come,  come,  come,"— she  repeated,  in  a 
panting  voice. 

"  Whither?    Why?    Let  us  remain  here." 

"  To  father,  to  father,  be  quick  ....  save 
him  ....  save  him! " 

"To  what  father?" 

"To  my  father;  they  are  going  to  hang 
him.  .  .  ." 

"  What!    Is  it  possible  that  Hirschel  .  .  .  ." 

"  He  is  my  father.  ...  I  will  explain  every- 
thing to  thee  afterward,"— she  added,  wringing 
her  hands  in  despair: — "only  come  .  .  .  . 
come.  .  .  ." 

We  ran  out  of  the  tent.  In  the  field,  on  the 
road  to  a  solitary  birch-tree,  a  group  of  soldiers 

26 


THE  JEW 

was  visible.  .  .  .  Sara  pointed  dumbly  at  it  with 
her  finger.  .  .  . 

"  Stop!  " — I  said  suddenly: — "  whither  are  we 
running?     The  soldiers  will  not  obey  me." 

Sara  continued  to  drag  me  after  her.  ...  I 
must  confess  that  my  head  reeled. 

"  But  hearken,  Sara,"  I  said  to  her:  "  what  's 
the  sense  in  running  thither?  I  had  better  go 
once  more  to  the  General ;  let  us  go  together ;  per- 
haps we  can  move  him  by  entreaties." 

Sara  suddenly  paused  and  stared  at  me  like  a 
mad  creature. 

"  Understand  me,  Sara,  for  God's  sake!  I 
have  not  the  power  to  pardon  thy  father,  but 
the  General  can.    Let  us  go  to  him." 

"  But  in  the  meanwhile  they  will  hang  him," — 
she  moaned.  .  .  . 

I  glanced  round.  The  regimental  secretary 
stood  not  far  oif . 

"  IvanofF,"  I  said  to  him: — "run,  please,  to 
the  men  yonder:  order  them  to  wait;  say  that  I 
have  gone  to  entreat  the  General." 

"  I  obey,  sir." 

Ivanoff  hastened  oif. 

They  would  not  admit  us  to  the  General's 
presence.  In  vain  did  I  plead,  and  argue,  at  last 
even  swear  ....  in  vain  did  poor  Sara  tear  her 
hair  and  fling  herself  upon  the  sentries :  we  were 
not  admitted. 

Sara  gazed  wildly  about  her,  clutched  her  head 

27 


THE  JEW 

in  both  hands,  and  ran  headlong  across  the  field 
to  her  father.  I  ran  after  her.  People  stared 
at  us  in  amazement.  .  .  . 

We  hurried  up  to  the  soldiers.  They  were 
standing  in  a  circle,  and— just  imagine,  gentle- 
men, were  jeering  at  poor  Hirschel!  I  flared 
up,  and  shouted  at  them.  The  Jew  caught  sight 
of  us,  and  flung  himself  on  his  daughter's  neck. 
Sara  clasped  him  convulsively. 

The  poor  man  imagined  that  he  had  been  par- 
doned. .  .  .  He  had  already  begun  to  thank  me. 
...  I  turned  away. 

"  Your  Well-Born,"— he  shouted,  and  clasped 
his  hands  tightly,—"  am  not  I  pardoned? " 

I  made  no  reply. 

"  No? " 

"  No." 

"Your  Well-Born,"— he  mumbled:— "  look, 
your  Well-Born,  look  ....  for  she— this  young 
maiden  here — you  know — she  is  my  daughter." 

"  I  know,"— I  answered,  and  again  turned 
away. 

"Your  Well-Born!  "—he  screamed:— "I 
did  n't  go  away  from  the  tent!  I  would  n't,  for 
anything.  ..."  He  paused  and  shut  his  eyes 
for  a  moment.  ..."  I  wanted  your  money, 
your  Well-Born,  I  must  confess,  j^our  money 
....  but  I  would  n't  for  anything  .  .  .  ." 

I  preserved  silence.  Hirschel  was  repulsive  to 
me — yes,  and  she  was  his  accomplice.  .  .  . 

28 


THE  JEW 


« 


But  now,  if  you  will  save  me,"— said  the  Jew 
in  a  whisper, — "  I  will  command — I  ....  you 
understand?  .  .  .  everything  ....  I  '11  do 
anything.  ..." 

He  trembled  like  a  leaf,  and  cast  a  hasty  glance 
about  him.  Sara  embraced  him  silently  and  pas- 
sionately. 

The  adjutant  stepped  up  to  them. 

"Mr.  Cornet,"— he  said  to  me:— "his  Ex- 
cellency has  given  orders  to  arrest  you.  And 
you  .  ..."  he  silently  pointed  out  the  Jew  to 
the  soldiers  .  .  .  .  "  will  immediately  .  .  .  ." 

Silyavka  approached  the  Jew. 

"  Feodor  Karlitch,"— I  said  to  the  adjutant 
(five  soldiers  had  come  with  him)  :— "  pray,  give 
orders,  at  least,  that  this  poor  girl  shall  be  re- 
moved. ..." 

"  Of  course.     I  agree,  sir." 

The  unhappy  girl  was  barely  breathing.  Hir- 
schel  muttered  something  in  her  ear,  in  the  Jew- 
ish tongue.  .  .  . 

With  difficulty  the  soldiers  freed  Sara  from 
the  paternal  embrace,  and  carefully  carried  her 
off  about  twenty  paces.  But  she  suddenly 
wrested  herself  from  their  hands,  and  darted  to- 
ward Hirschel  ....  Silyavka  stopped  her. 
Sara  thrust  him  aside;  a  slight  flush  covered  her 
face,  her  eyes  flashed,  she  extended  her  arms. 

"  Then  may  you  be  accursed,"— she  shrieked  in 
German: — "accursed,  thrice  accursed,  you  and 

29 


THE   JEW 

all  your  hateful  race,  with  the  curse  of  Dathan 
and  Abiram,  with  the  curse  of  poverty,  of  steril- 
ity and  impotence,  of  shameful  death !  May  the 
earth  also  yawn  beneath  your  feet,  ye  godless 
ones,  ye  pitiless,  bloodthirsty  dogs.  .  .  ." 

Her  head  fell  backward  ....  she  sank  to  the 
ground.  .  .  .  They  lifted  her  and  bore  her 
away. 

The  soldiers  took  Hirschel  under  the  arms. 
Then  I  understood  why  they  had  laughed  at  the 
Jew  while  Sara  and  I  had  run  in  from  the  camp. 
He  really  was  ridiculous,  in  spite  of  all  the  horror 
of  his  situation.  The  torturing  anguish  of  part- 
ing from  life,  from  his  daughter,  from  his  family 
was  expressed  in  the  case  of  the  unhappy  Jew 
by  such  strange,  hideous  contortions  of  body,  by 
such  shrieks  and  skips,  that  we  all  smiled  invol- 
untarily, although  it  was  painful,  very  painful 
to  us.  The  poor  man  was  expiring  with  ter- 
ror. .  .  . 

"  Oi",  61,  6i!  "—he  screamed:— "  6i  ....  stop  I 
I  will  tell  ...  I  will  tell  much.  Mr.  Assistant 
Quartermaster,  you  know  me.  I  am  an  agent,  an 
honest  agent.  Don't  seize  me ;  wait  a  minute  more, 
one  little  minute,  one  tiny  little  minute— wait  I 
Let  me  go :  I  am  a  poor  Jew.  Sara  ....  where  is 
Sara?  Oh,  I  know!  She  is  with  the  Mr.  Quar- 
ter-Lieutenant "  (heaven  knows  why  he  pro- 
moted me  to  such  an  unheard-of  rank).  "  Mr. 
Quarter-Lieutenant!     I  won't  leave  the  tent!" 

30 


THE  JEW 

(The  soldiers  tried  to  take  hold  of  Hirschel  .  .  . 
he  squealed  in  a  deafening  manner,  and  slipped 
through  their  hands.)  — "  Your  Excellency!  .  .  . 
have  mercy  on  an  unhappy  father  of  a  family! 
I  will  give  you  ten  ducats,  fifteen  ducats,  your 
Excellency!  ..."  (They  dragged  him  to  the 
birch-tree)  .  .  .  .  "  Spare  me!  zhow  merzyl 
Mr.  Quarter-Lieutenant!  Your  lUustriousness ! 
Mr.  Over-General  and  Commander-in-Chief!" 

They  placed  the  noose  on  the  Jew's  neck  .... 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  set  off  on  a  run. 

I  sat  under  arrest  for  a  fortnight.  I  was  told 
that  the  widow  of  the  unlucky  Hirschel  had  come 
for  the  clothing  of  the  dead  man.  The  General 
ordered  one  hundred  rubles  to  be  given  to  her. 
I  never  saw  Sara  again.  I  was  wounded;  I  was 
sent  to  the  hospital,  and  when  I  recovered,  Dant- 
zig  had  already  surrendered,— and  I  overtook  my 
regiment  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine. 


31 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

(1844) 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

IN  a  small,  passably-well  furnished  room,  sev- 
eral young  men  were  sitting  in  front  of  the 
fireplace.  The  winter  evening  was  only  just  be- 
ginning: the  samovar  was  boiling  on  the  table; 
conversation  had  got  well  under  way,  and  was 
passing  from  one  topic  to  another.  They  had 
begun  to  talk  about  remarkable  people,  and  about 
the  precise  manner  in  which  they  differ  from 
ordinary  people.  Each  one  expressed  his  opin- 
ion as  best  he  might ;  voices  were  raised,  and  had 
begun  to  grow  noisy.  One  small,  pale  man,  who 
had  listened  for  a  long  time,  as  he  sipped  his  tea 
and  smoked  his  small  cigar,  to  the  idle  chatter 
of  his  companions,  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet  and 
addressed  all  of  us  (I  also  was  among  the  num- 
ber of  the  disputants)  in  the  following  words; 

"Gentlemen!  all  your  profound  speeches  are 
good  in  their  way,  but  futile.  Each,  as  usual, 
learns  the  opinion  of  his  opponent,  and  each  one 
sticks  to  his  own  conviction.  But  this  is  not  the 
first  time  we  have  come  together,  this  is  not  the 
first  time  we  have  had  a  discussion,  and,  there- 
fore, in  all  probability,  we  have  all  managed  to 

35 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

enunciate  our  views,  and  to  find  out  the  opinions 
of  the  others.  Then  what  are  you  making  such 
a  fuss  about? " 

So  saying,  the  small  man  carelessly  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace, 
screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  smiled  calmly.  We  all 
fell  silent. 

"  Then  what  ought  we  to  do,  in  your  opinion?  " 
—said  one  of  us:—"  play  cards?  go  to  bed?  dis- 
perse to  our  homes? " 

"It  is  pleasant  to  play  cards,  and  useful  to 
sleep," — retorted  the  small  man: — "but  it  is 
still  rather  early  to  disperse  to  our  homes.  But 
you  have  not  understood  me.  Hearken:  I  pro- 
pose that  each  one  of  us,  things  being  as  they 
are,  should  describe  to  us  some  extraordinary 
individual,  should  narrate  to  us  his  encounter 
with  some  notable  man.  Believe  me,  the  very 
worst  story  is  far  more  to  the  point  than  the  most 
capital  argument." 

We  reflected. 

"  It  is  strange,"— remarked  one  of  us,  a  great 
joker,—"  that,  with  the  exception  of  myself,  I 
am  not  acquainted  with  a  single  remarkable  man, 
and  my  life  is  well  known  to  all  of  you,  I  believe. 
However,  if  you  command.  ..." 

"  No,"— exclaimed  another:— "we  don't  want 
that!  But  come,"— he  added,  addressing  the 
small  man:— "do  thou  begin.  Thou  hast  dis- 
concerted us  all;  thou  art  the  most  competent 

36 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

person.  Only,  look  out — if  thy  story  does  not 
please  us,  we  shall  hiss  thee." 

"All  right,"- he  replied. 

He  took  up  his  stand  by  the  fireplace ;  we  seated 
ourselves  around  him,  and  became  quiet.  The 
small  man  looked  at  all  of  us,  cast  a  glance  at  the 
ceiling,  and  began  as  follows: 

Ten  years  ago,  my  dear  sirs,  I  was  a  student 
in  Moscow.  My  father,  a  virtuous  landed  pro- 
prietor of  the  steppes,  put  me  in  the  hands  of  a 
retired  German  professor,  who  undertook,  for  a 
consideration  of  one  hundred  rubles  a  month, 
to  provide  me  with  food  and  drink,  and  to  look 
after  my  morals.  This  German  was  gifted  with 
an  extremely  pompous  and  stately  mien;  at  first 
I  was  a  good  deal  afraid  of  him.  But  one  fine 
evening,  on  returning  home,  to  my  inexpressible 
delight  I  beheld  my  tutor  sitting  with  three  or 
four  comrades  at  a  round  table,  on  which  stood 
a  considerable  number  of  empty  bottles  and  half- 
emptied  glasses.  On  catching  sight  of  me,  my 
respected  tutor  rose  and,  with  flourishing  of  the 
hands  and  hiccoughs,  presented  me  to  the  hon- 
ourable company,  which  immediately  and  unani- 
mously offered  me  a  glass  of  punch.  This  agree- 
able spectacle  had  a  refreshing  effect  on  my  soul ; 
my  future  presented  itself  to  me  in  the  most  at- 
tractive shape.  And,  in  fact,  thenceforward,  be- 
ginning with  that  memorable  day,  I  enjoyed  un- 

37 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

limited  liberty,  and  did  pretty  much  everything 
except  thrash  my  tutor.  He  had  a  wife,  who 
eternally  reeked  of  smoke  and  cucumber  brine; 
she  was  still  fairly  young,  but  no  longer  had  a 
single  front  tooth.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
all  German  women  speedily  lose  that  indispen- 
sable adornment  of  the  human  body.  I  mention 
her  solely  because  she  fell  passionately  in  love 
with  me,  and  stuffed  me  so  with  food  that  I 
nearly  died. 

"  Come  to  the  point,  come  to  the  point!  "—we 
all  shouted. — "  Surely,  thou  dost  not  intend  to 
narrate  to  us  thine  own  adventures? " 

"No,  gentlemen!  "—replied  the  small  man 
with  composure: — "I  am  an  ordinary  mortal." 

So,  as  I  was  saying,  I  lived  with  my  German 
like  a  fighting-cock,  as  the  saying  is.  I  did  not 
attend  the  university  too  diligently,  and  at  home 
did  absolutely  nothing.  In  a  very  short  time  I 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  all  my  comrades, 
and  called  them  all  "  thou."  Among  the  number 
of  my  new  friends  was  one,  a  tolerably  nice,  good 
young  fellow,  the  son  of  a  former  police  captain. 
His  name  was  Boboff.  This  Boboff  got  into  the 
habit  of  coming  to  see  me  and,  apparently,  took 
a  liking  to  me.  And  I  .  .  .  you  know,  did  not 
exactly  like  him,  or  j^et  exactly  dislike  him,  only 
in  a  sort  of  way.  ...  I  must  tell  you,  that  in  all 

38 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

Moscow  I  had  not  a  single  relation,  with  the 
exception  of  an  old  uncle,  who  sometimes  asked 
me  for  money.  I  went  nowhere,  and  was  par- 
ticularly afraid  of  women;  I  also  avoided  the 
acquaintance  of  the  relations  of  my  university 
comrades,  after  one  of  those  relations  had  pulled 
his  son's  hair  in  my  presence  because  a  button 
had  got  ripped  off  his  uniform,  while  there  were 
not  more  than  six  buttons  on  my  coat  that  day. 
In  comparison  with  many  of  my  comrades  I 
passed  for  a  rich  man;  from  time  to  time  my  fa- 
ther sent  me  small  packages  of  faded  blue  bank- 
bills,^  and  therefore  I  not  onty  enjoyed  independ- 
ence, but  I  always  had  flatterers  and  toadies  .... 
what  am  I  saying?  I  had?  Why,  even  my  bob- 
tailed  dog  Armishka,  which,  in  spite  of  its  setter 
pedigree,  was  so  afraid  of  a  shot  that  the  mere 
sight  of  a  gun  inspired  it  with  indescribable  mel- 
ancholy— even  Armishka  had  them!  Moreover  I, 
like  every  other  j^oung  man,  was  not  exempt  from 
that  dull,  internal  ferment  which  generally,  after 
having  broken  out  in  a  dozen  more  or  less  crude 
poems,  comes  to  a  very  safe  and  peaceable  end. 
I  wanted  something,  strove  toward  something, 
and  dreamed  of  something;  I  admit  that  I  did 
not  know  very  clearly  at  the  time  precisely  of 
what  I  was  dreaming.  Now  I  understand  what 
I  missed:— I  felt  my  loneliness,  I  thirsted  for 
intercourse  with  so-called  live  people;  the  word 

1  The  old  five-ruble  note  was  blue.  —  Traxslator. 

39 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

"  life  "  (pronounce  it  laife)  resounded  in  my  soul, 
and  I  listened  to  that  sound  with  ill-defined  dis- 

"  Valerian  Nikititch,  please  give  me  a  cigar."  ^ 

Having  lighted  his  cigar,  the  small  man  con- 
tinued : 

One  fine  morning,  Boboff  rushed  panting  to 
me: — "  Great  news,  brother,  dost  thou  know  it? 
KolosoiF  has  arrived." — "  KolosofF?  what  sort  of 
a  bird  is  Mr.  Kolosoff  ?  "— "  Dost  not  thou  know 
him?  Andriusha  KolosofF?  Come  on,  my  dear 
fellow,  let  's  go  to  him  as  quickly  as  possible. 
He  returned  yesterday  evening  from  an  en- 
gagement as  tutor  in  a  private  family." — "  But 
who  is  he?  " — "A  remarkable  man,  my  dear  fel- 
low, good  gracious!  " — "A  remarkable  man," — 
said  I: — "thou  mayest  go  alone.  I  '11  stay  at 
home.  I  know  all  about  your  remarkable  men! 
Some  half -inebriated  rhymster  with  an  eternal 
rapturous  smile!"  ....  —"Eh,  no!  Kolosoff 
is  not  that  sort,  of  a  man."  I  wanted  to  remark 
to  Boboff  that  Mr.  Kolosoff  ought  to  call  upon 
me;  but,  I  know  not  why,  I  obeyed  Boboff  and 
went.  Boboff  conducted  me  to  one  of  the  filthi- 
est, crookedest,  and  narrowest  alleys  in  Moscow. 
.  .  .  The  house  in  which  Kolosoff  lived  was  built 
after  an  ancient  pattern,  artfully  and  inconve- 

A  pakhitos,  or  cigar,  with  a  corn-shuck  wrapper. —Thanslatoh. 

40 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

niently.  We  entered  the  courtyard;  a  fat 
woman  was  hanging  out  clothes  on  a  line 
stretched  from  the  house  to  the  fence  .... 
children  were  shouting  to  one  another  on  the 
wooden  staircase.  .  .  . 

"Come  to  the  point!  come  to  the  point!" — 
we  roared. 

"  I  see,  gentlemen,  that  you  do  not  like  the 
agreeable,  and  cling  exclusively  to  the  useful. 
All  right!" 

We  made  our  way  through  a  dark  and  nar- 
row passage  to  KolosofF's  chamber;  we  entered. 
You  have,  probably,  an  approximate  idea  of  what 
the  room  of  a  poor  student  is  like.  Directly  in 
front  of  the  door,  on  a  chest  of  drawers,  sat 
KolosoiF,  smoking  a  pipe.  He  extended  his  hand 
to  BobofF  in  friendly  wise,  and  bowed  politely  to 
me.  I  glanced  at  Kolosoff,  and  at  once  felt  irre- 
sistibly attracted  to  him.  Gentlemen!  BobofF 
was  not  mistaken:  Kolosoif  really  was  a  re- 
markable man.  Allow  me  to  describe  him  to 
you  somewhat  more  in  detail.  .  .  .  He  was 
rather  tall  of  stature,  well  built,  alert,  and  very 
far  from  uncomely.  His  face  ....  I  find  it 
very  difficult,  gentlemen,  to  describe  any  one's 
face.  It  is  easy  enough  to  enumerate  all  the 
separate  features;  but  how  impart  to  another 
person  that  which  constitutes  the  distinguishing 
attribute,  the  essence,  in  fact,  of  that  face? 

41 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

"  That  which  Byron  calls  '  the  music  of  the 
face,'  "—remarked  one  pale,  tightly-girt  gentle- 


man 


Exactly,  sir.  .  .  .' 


Therefore,  I  will  confine  myself  to  one  comment : 
that  peculiar  "  something,"  to  which  I  have  just 
alluded,  consisted,  in  Kolosoif 's  case,  of  a  reck- 
lessly jovial  and  dashing  expression  of  counte- 
nance, and  of  an  extremely  fascinating  smile. 
He  had  no  recollection  of  his  parents;  he  had 
been  reared  in  the  most  economical  way  in  the 
house  of  some  distant  relation,  who  was  turned 
out  of  the  government  service  for  taking  bribes. 
Until  the  age  of  fifteen  he  had  lived  in  the  coun- 
try; then  Fate  brought  him  to  Moscow,  to  the 
house  of  a  deaf  old  priest's  widow.  He  remained 
with  her  two  years,  entered  the  university,  and 
began  to  live  by  giving  lessons.  He  taught  his- 
tory, geography,  and  Russian  grammar,  al- 
though he  had  but  a  faint  conception  of  those 
sciences;  but,  in  the  first  place,  we  have  insti- 
tuted in  Russia  "  guides,"  which  are  very  useful 
for  teachers,  and,  in  the  second  place,  the  require- 
ments of  the  respected  merchants,  who  entrusted 
the  education  of  their  children  to  Kolosoff ,  were 
too  circumscribed. 

KolosofF  was  neither  a  wit  nor  a  humorist ;  but 
you  cannot  imagine,  gentlemen,  how  willingly 
we  all  obeyed  that  man.     We  involuntarily  ad- 

42 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

mired  him,  as  it  were;  his  words,  his  glances,  his 
movements  exhaled  such  youthful  charm  that 
all  of  his  comrades  were  over  head  and  ears  in 
love  with  him.  The  professors  regarded  him  as 
a  far  from  stupid  young  fellow,  but  "  not  pos- 
sessed of  great  capacity,"  and  lazy.  Kolosoff 's 
presence  lent  special  orderliness  to  our  evening 
gatherings:  in  his  presence  our  merriment  never 
passed  over  into  outrageous  turbulence;  if  we 
had  all  grown  sad,  that  half -childish  sadness 
was  dissipated,  in  his  presence,  in  a  quiet,  some- 
times quite  practical  conversation,  and  never  be- 
came converted  into  spleen.  You  smile,  gentle- 
men,— I  understand  your  smile:  it  is  a  fact  that, 
later  on,  many  of  us  turned  out  decidedly  com- 
monplace persons.    But  youth  ....  youth  .... 

"  O  talk  not  to  me  of  a  name  great  in  story ! 

The  days  of  our  youth  are  the  days  of  our  glory.  .  .  .*' 

remarked  the  pale  man  who  had  spoken  before. 
"  Devil  take  it,  what  a  memory  you  have!  and 
you  always  quote  from  Byron! " — remarked  the 
narrator. 

In  a  word,  gentlemen,  Kolosoff  was  the  soul  of 
our  society.  I  became  more  strongly  attached 
to  him  than  I  have  ever  since  been  to  any 
woman.  And  yet,  I  am  not  ashamed,  even 
now,  to  recall  that  strange  love — precisely  that, 
love,— because,  as  I  remember,  I  experienced 

43 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

at  that  time  all  the  torments  of  that  passion — 
jealousy,  for  instance.  Kolosoff  loved  us  all 
equally,  but  he  favoured  in  particular  a  taciturn, 
fair-haired,  submissive  young  fellow,  Gavriloff 
by  name.  He  was  hardly  ever  parted  from  that 
Gavriloff;  he  frequently  exchanged  whispers 
with  him,  and  in  company  with  him  used  to  disap- 
pear from  Moscow,  God  knows  whither,  for  two 
or  three  days  at  a  time.  .  .  .  Kolosoff  did  not  like 
to  be  questioned,  and  I  lost  myself  in  conjectures. 
It  was  not  simple  curiosity  which  agitated  me; 
I  wanted  to  become  KolosofF's  comrade,  his 
squire;  I  was  jealous  of  Gavriloff;  I  envied  him. 
I  could  not  possibly  explain  to  myself  the  cause 
of  Kolosoff's  strange  absences.  Yet  he  had  none 
of  that  mystery  about  him  whereon  youths  en- 
dowed with  self-conceit,  pallor,  black  hair,  and 
an  "  expressive  "  glance  are  wont  to  plume  them- 
selves, nor  any  of  that  fictitious  indifference,  be- 
neath which  vast  powers  are  supposed  to  be  con- 
cealed; no:  he  was  entirely  above-board,  as  the 
saying  is;  but  when  passion  took  possession  of 
him,  a  vehement,  impetuous  activity  made  its  ap- 
pearance. Only,  he  did  not  waste  his  strength 
in  vain;  never,  under  any  circumstances  what- 
ever, became  stilted.  By  the  way,  gentlemen 
....  tell  the  truth:  has  it  not  happened  to  you 
to  sit  and  smoke  your  pipe  with  a  mournfully- 
majestic  aspect,  as  though  you  had  just  de- 
cided upon  some  grand  feat,  while  you  are  sim- 

44 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

ply  revolving  in  your  mind  what  colour  your 
new  trousers  shall  be?  ...  .  But  the  point  is, 
that  I  was  the  first  to  observe  in  the  cheery  and 
cordial  KolosofF  these  involuntary,  passionate 
impulses.  .  .  .  Not  without  cause  is  it  said  that 
love  is  penetrating.  I  made  up  my  mind — cost 
what  it  might — to  worm  myself  into  his  confi- 
dence. I  had  no  object  in  dangling  after  Kolo- 
sofF; I  worshipped  him  in  so  childish  a  manner 
that  he  could  not  cherish  any  doubt  as  to  my 
devotion  ....  but,  to  my  indescribable  vexa- 
tion, I  was  forced  at  last  to  the  conviction  that 
KolosofF  avoided  more  intimate  relations  with 
me,  that  he  found  my  unsolicited  affection  op- 
pressive. On  one  occasion,  with  obvious  dis- 
pleasure, he  asked  me  to  lend  him  some  money — 
and  on  the  following  day  he  repaid  it  with  de- 
risive gratitude.  During  the  course  of  the  en- 
tire winter,  my  relations  with  Kolosoff  did  not  un- 
dergo so  much  as  a  hair's-breadth  of  change;  I 
often  compared  myself  with  Gavriloff — and 
could  not  understand  how  he  was  better  than  I. 
....  But  all  of  a  sudden  everything  was 
changed.  In  the  middle  of  April  Gavriloff  fell 
ill  and  died  in  the  arms  of  KolosofF,  who  had  not 
left  his  chamber  for  a  single  instant,  and  went 
nowhere  for  a  whole  week  after  his  death.  We 
all  grieved  for  poor  GavrilofF.  That  pale,  taci- 
turn man  seemed  to  have  had  a  presentiment  of 
his  end.    I,  also,  sincerely  regretted  his  loss,  but 

45 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

my  heart  sank  within  me,  and  waited  for  some- 
thing. ...  On  one  never-to-be-forgotten  even- 
ing ....  I  was  lying  alone  on  m}'-  divan  and 
staring  senselessly  at  the  ceiling  ....  when 
some  one  hastily  threw  open  the  door  of  my  room 
and  halted  on  the  threshold;  I  raised  my  head: 
before  me  stood  KolosofF.  He  entered  slowly 
and  sat  down  beside  me.—"  I  have  come  to  thee," 
— he  began,  in  a  decidedly  dull  voice,  "  because 
thou  lovest  me  more  than  all  the  others.  ...  I 
have  lost  my  best  friend  "—his  voice  trembled 
slightly—"  and  I  feel  lonely.  .  .  .  None  of  you 
knew  GavriloiF  ....  you  did  not  know  him." 
.  .  .  He  rose,  strode  about  the  room  and  swiftly 
approached  me.  ..."  Wouldst  thou  like  to 
take  his  place  with  me?  "  he  said,  and  gave  me 
his  hand.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  flung  myself 
on  his  breast.  My  genuine  joy  touched  him.  .  .  . 
I  did  not  know  what  to  say;  I  sighed.  .  .  .  Ko- 
losofF gazed  at  me  and  laughed  softly.  Tea  was 
served.  After  tea  he  began  to  talk  about  Gavri- 
lofF;  I  learned  that  that  timid  and  gentle  lad  had 
saved  Kolosoff's  hfe;  and  I  was  obliged  to  ad- 
mit to  myself  that,  had  I  been  in  GavrflofF's 
place,  I  could  not  have  refrained  from  chattering 
—from  boasting  of  my  good  luck.  The  clock 
struck  eight.  Kolosoff  rose,  went  to  the  window, 
drummed  on  the  glass,  turned  swiftly  toward 
me,  tried  to  say  something  ....  and  sat  down 
silently  on  a  chair.    I  took  his  hand.  —  "  KolosofF  1 

46 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

really,  really,  I  deserve  thy  confidence!" — He 
looked  me  straight  in  the  eye.—"  Well,  if  that 
is  so,"  he  said  at  last, — "  take  thy  cap,  and  let  us 
go."— "Whither?"— "  Gavriloff  was  not  wont  to 
ask  me." — I  instantly  fell  silent. — "  Dost  thou 
know  how  to  play  cards?  " — "  Yes." 

We  left  the  house,  hired  a  cab  for  the  ***  gate. 
At  the  gate  we  alighted.  Kolosoff  walked  in 
advance  very  swiftly;  I  followed  him.  We  pro- 
ceeded along  the  highway.  After  traversing  a 
verst,^  KolosofF  turned  aside.  In  the  mean- 
time, night  had  descended.  On  the  right,  athwart 
the  mist,  the  lights  twinkled,  and  the  innumerable 
churches  of  the  great  city  reared  themselves 
aloft;  on  the  left,  by  the  side  of  a  forest,  two 
white  horses  were  grazing  in  a  meadow;  in 
front  of  us  stretched  fields  covered  with  greyish 
exhalations.  I  walked  in  silence  behind  Kolo- 
sofF. Suddenly  he  halted,  extended  his  hand  in 
front  of  him,  and  said:  "  Yonder  is  the  place  to 
which  we  are  bound."  I  descried  a  small,  dark 
house;  two  tiny  windows  glimmered  faintly 
through  the  fog.  "In  that  house,"  pursued  Ko- 
losofF, "  dwells  a  certain  Sidorenko,  a  retired  lieu- 
tenant, with  his  sister,  an  old  maid— and  his 
daughter.  I  will  give  thee  out  as  my  relation — 
thou  wilt  sit  down  and  play  cards  with  them." 
I  silently  nodded  my  head.  I  wanted  to  prove  to 
KolosofF  that  I  could  hold  my  tongue  quite  as 

^  Two  thirds  of  a  mile.  —Translator. 

47 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

effectually  as  Gavriloff.  .  .  .  But,  I  must  con- 
fess, I  was  powerfully  tormented  with  curiosity. 
On  reaching  the  porch  of  the  little  house,  I  per- 
ceived in  the  lighted  window  the  graceful  form 
of  a  young  girl.  .  .  .  She  seemed  to  be  watching 
for  us,  and  immediately  disappeared.  We  en- 
tered a  dark,  cramped  anteroom.  A  crooked, 
hunchbacked  little  old  woman  emerged  to  re- 
ceive us,  and  stared  at  me  in  surprise.  "  Is  Ivan 
Semyonitch  at  home?  "  asked  Kolosoff.  "  Yes, 
sir." — "  Yes,  I  'm  at  home!  "  rang  out  a  thick, 
masculine  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  door. 
We  passed  on  into  the  hall,^  if  a  long,  fairly 
dirty  room  can  be  called  a  hall,  where  a  tall,  an- 
cient piano  cowered  submissively  in  a  corner  near 
the  stove;  several  chairs  were  ranged  along  the 
walls,  which  had  once  been  yellow.  In  the  middle 
of  the  room  stood  a  man  of  fifty,  tall  of  stature, 
stooping,  and  clad  in  a  greasy  dressing-gown. 
I  took  a  more  attentive  look  at  him;  his  face  was 
surly,  his  hair  was  worn  in  a  brush,  his  forehead 
was  low,  he  had  grey  eyes,  a  huge  moustache, 
thick  lips.  ... 

"  'T  is  a  fine  goose!  "  I  said  to  myself. 

"  We  have  n't  seen  you  for  a  long  time,  An- 
drei Nikolaitch,"  he  said,  stretching  out  to  Ko- 
losoff his  hideous  red  hand — "for  a  long  time! 
And  where  is  Sevastyan  Sevastyanovitch? " 

^A  "hall  "in  Russian  houses  is  a  combination  music- and  balK 
room,  which  is  also  sometimes  used  as  a  dining-room,  and  a  play-roone 
in  bad  weather.— Translator.  • 

48 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

"  Gavriloff  is  dead,"  answered  Kolosoff , 
sadly. 

"  Dead!  just  think  of  that!    And  who  is  this?  " 

"  A  relation  of  mine— I  have  the  honour  to 
introduce  him:— Nikolai  Alex " 

"  Good,  good,"  Ivan  Semyonitch  interrupted 
him:—"  I  'm  glad,  very  glad  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance.   And  does  he  play  cards?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  he  does!  " 

"Well,  that  's  fine;  we  '11  sit  down  at  once. 
Hey,  there!  Matryona  Semyonovna— where  art 
thou?  Fetch  the  card-table— and  be  quick  about 
it!  ...  .  And  tea!" 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Sidorenko  went  into 
the  next  room.  KolosoiF  looked  at  me. — 
"  Hearken,"  said  he:  "  God  knows  how  ashamed 
I  am!  "  ....  I  shut  his  mouth  with  my  hand. 

"  Well,  my  dear  fellow — what  's  your  name? 
— please  come  hither,"  shouted  Ivan  Semyonitch. 
I  went  into  the  drawing-room.  It  was  even 
smaller  than  the  dining-room.  On  the  walls 
hung  some  hideous  portraits;  in  front  of  the 
divan,  from  which  the  shredded  linden-bast 
stuffing  projected  in  several  places,  stood  a  green 
table ;  on  the  divan  sat  Ivan  Semyonitch,  already 
engaged  in  shuffling  the  cards;  by  his  side,  on 
the  extreme  edge  of  an  arm-chair,  sat  a  raw- 
boned  woman  in  a  white  mob-cap  and  a  black 
gown,  with  a  sallow,  wrinkled  face,  tiny  blear 
eyes,  and  thin,  cat-like  lips. 

49 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

"  Here,"— said  Ivan  Semyonitch,  "  let  me  in- 
troduce this  man !  the  former  one  is  dead ;  Andrei 
Nikolaitch  has  brought  another ;  let  us  see  how  he 
plays!"— The  old  woman  made  an  awkward 
bow,  and  indulged  in  a  fit  of  coughing.  I  cast  a 
glance  about  me;  Kolosoff  was  no  longer  in  the 
room.  — "  Stop  that  coughing,  Matryona  Semyo- 
novna — sheep  cough," — growled  Sidorenko.  I 
sat  down;  the  game  began.  Mr.  Sidorenko  flew 
into  a  frightful  passion  and  raged  at  the  smallest 
mistake  on  my  part;  he  showered  reproaches  on 
his  sister;  but  she,  evidently,  had  succeeded  in 
getting  used  to  her  brother's  amiable  remarks, 
and  merely  blinked  her  eyes.  When,  however, 
he  declared  to  Matryona  Semyonovna  that 
she  was  "  antichrist "  the  poor  old  woman  flared 
up.^ 

"  You  were  the  death  of  your  spouse,  Anfisa 
Karpovna,  Ivan  Semyonitch,"  she  said  angrily; 
"  but  you  sha'n't  be  the  death  of  me!  " 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"No;  you  sha'n't!" 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"  No;  you  sha'n't  be  the  death  of  me!  " 

They  continued  to  wrangle  after  this  fashion 
for  quite  a  long  time.  My  position,  as  you  will 
please  to  observe,  was  not  only  not  enviable,  but 
even  simply  stupid;  I  did  not  understand  why 
Kolosofl^  had  taken  it  into  his 'head  to  bring  me. 
.  .  .  .  I  had  never  been  a  good  player;  but  on 

50 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

this  occasion  I  was  conscious  that  I  was  so  bad 
as  to  be  beneath  criticism. 

"  No!  "  the  retired  lieutenant  kept  incessantly- 
repeating: — "you  are  far  inferior  to  Sevastya- 
nitch!  No,  you  are  playing  heedlessly!  "—Of 
course,  I  inwardly  consigned  him  to  all  the 
fiends.  This  torture  lasted  for  two  hours;  they 
stripped  me  of  every  kopek.  Just  before  the 
end  of  the  last  rubber,  I  heard  a  faint  sound  be- 
hind my  chair, — glanced  round,  and  beheld  K6- 
losofF;  by  his  side  stood  a  young  girl  of  seven- 
teen, gazing  at  me  with  a  barely  perceptible 
smile. — "  Fill  my  pipe,  Varya," — said  Ivan  Se- 
myonitch.  The  girl  immediately  fluttered  off  into 
the  next  room.  She  was  not  very  pretty,  was 
quite  pale  and  thin;  but  neither  before  nor  since 
have  I  ever  seen  such  eyes  or  such  hair.  We 
played  the  rubber  out,  after  a  fashion ;  I  paid  up. 
Sidorenko  lighted  his  pipe,  and  roared: 

"  Well,  now  't  is  time  to  sup!  " 

Kolosofl*  presented  me  to  Varya,  that  is, 
to  Varvara  Ivanovna,  the  daughter  of  Ivan  Se- 
myonitch.  Varya  was  embarrassed;  and  I  was 
embarrassed.  But  KolosofF,  according  to  his 
wont,  brought  everything  and  everybody  into 
order  in  a  few  moments:  he  seated  Varva  at  the 
piano,  requested  her  to  play  a  dance-tune,  and 
began  to  vie  with  Ivan  Semyonitch  in  executing 
a  kazak  dance.  The  lieutenant  shouted,  stamped, 
and  executed  with  his  feet  such  incredible  steps 

51 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

that  Matryona  Semyonovna  herself  shrieked 
with  laughter,  and  went  off  to  her  own  room  up- 
stairs. The  hunchbacked  woman  set  the  table; 
we  sat  down  to  supper.  After  supper,  Kolosoff 
narrated  various  nonsensical  things;  the  lieuten- 
ant laughed  deaf eningly ;  I  surveyed  Varya  from 
the  corners  of  my  eyes.  She  never  took  her  eyes 
from  Kolosoff  ....  and  merely  from  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face  I  was  able  to  divine  that  she 
loved  him,  and  was  beloved  by  him.  Her  lips 
were  slightly  parted,  her  head  drooped  slightly 
forward,  a  faint  blush  played  over  her  whole 
countenance;  from  time  to  time  she  heaved  a 
profound  sigh,  suddenly  dropped  her  eyes,  and 
laughed  softly.  ...  I  rejoiced  for  Kolosoff. 
.  .  .  And  yet  I  was  envious,  devil  take  it!  .  .  .  .' 
After  supper,  Kolosoff  and  I  immediately  took 
our  caps,  which,  however,  did  not  in  the  least 
prevent  the  lieutenant's  saying  to  us,  yawning 
the  while: — "You  have  stayed  too  long,  gen- 
tlemen; 't  is  time  for  you  to  cease  abusing  our 
kindness."  Varya  escorted  Kolosoff  to  the  ante- 
room.— "  When  will  you  come  again,  Andrei 
Nikolaevitch  ?  "  she  whispered  to  him. 

"  A  few  days  hence,  without  fail." 

"  Bring  him  too,"  she  added,  with  a  very  art- 
ful smile. 

"  Certainly,  certainly " 

"  No,  I  thank  you!  "  I  said  to  myself.  .  .  . 

On  our  way  home,  I  learned  the  following. 

52 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

Six  months  previously,  Kolosoff  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Sidorenko  in  a  decidedly 
strange  manner.  One  rainy  evening,  Kolosoff 
was  returning  home  from  hunting,  and  was 
already  nearing  the  ***  gate,  when  suddenly,  at 
a  short  distance  from  the  road,  he  heard  groans, 
interspersed  with  oaths.  He  had  his  gun  with  him : 
without  pausing  long  to  reflect,  he  bent  his  steps 
straight  toward  the  shouts,  and  found  on  the 
ground  a  man  with  a  sprained  ankle.  This  man 
was  Mr.  Sidorenko.  With  great  difficulty  he 
led  him  home,  and  entrusted  him  to  the  care  of  his 
frightened  sister  and  daughter,  then  ran  for  a 
doctor.  ...  In  the  meanwhile,  morning  had 
come;  Kolosoff  could  hardly  stand  on  his  feet 
from  fatigue.  With  the  permission  of  Matryona 
Semyonovna,  he  threw  himself  on  the  divan  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  slept  until  eight  o'clock. 
On  awakening,  he  wished  to  set  off  homeward 
immediately;  but  they  detained  him,  and  gave 
him  tea.  During  the  night  he  had  succeeded  in 
catching  two  fleeting  glimpses  of  Varvara  Iva- 
novna's  pale  little  face;  he  paid  no  special  atten- 
tion to  her,  but  in  the  morning  he  took  a  de- 
cided liking  to  her.  Matryona  Semyonovna 
loquaciously  lauded  and  thanked  Kolosoff ;  Varya 
sat  silent,  pouring  out  the  tea,  rarely  cast  a  glance 
at  him,  and  handed  him  now  a  cup,  now  the 
cream,  now  the  sugar-bowl,  with  timid  and  bash- 
ful attentiveness.     At  that  time  the  lieutenant 

53 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

awoke,  in  a  loud  voice  demanded  his  pipe,  and 
after  having  held  his  peace  for  a  while,  began 
to  shout:  "  Sister!  hey,  there,  sister!  "  Matryona 
went  to  him  in  his  bedroom. — "  Well,  has  that  fel- 
low ....  what  's  his  name  ?  the  devil  only  knows ! 
— has  he  gone? " — "  No,  I  am  still  here,"  re- 
plied Kolosoff,  stepping  to  the  door:—"  are  you 
better  now?  " — "  Yes,"  replied  the  lieutenant:— 
"  come  here,  my  dear  fellow."  Kolosoff  entered. 
Sidorenko  stared  at  him,  and  said  reluctantly: 
"Well,  thanks;  drop  in  and  see  me  some  time 
or  other — what  's  your  name,  damn  it?  " — "  Ko- 
losoff," replied  Andrei. — "  Well,  good,  good, 
drop  in ;  and  now  there  's  no  use  in  your  hanging 
on  here;  they  're  expecting  you  at  home,  I  sup- 
pose."—Kolosoff  left  the  room,  took  leave  of 
Matryona  Semyonovna,  made  his  bow  to  Varvara 
Ivanovna,  and  returned  home.  From  that  day 
forth  he  began  to  go  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's  house ; 
at  first  rarely,  then  more  and  more  frequently. 
The  summer  arrived :  he  would  take  his  gun,  put 
on  his  game-bag,  and  set  off  as  though  for  the 
chase;  he  would  drop  in  to  see  the  retired  heu- 
tenant — and  sit  there  until  evening. 

Varvara  Ivanovna's  father  had  served  for 
five-and-twenty  years  in  the  army,  had  accumu- 
lated a  little  money,  and  bought  himself  a  few 
desyatinas  ^  of  land  a  couple  of  versts  from  Mos- 
cow.   He  was  barely  able  to  read  and  write;  but, 

1 A  desyatina  equals  2.70  acres.  — Translator. 

54 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

despite  his  outward  clumsiness  and  coarseness, 
he  was  intelligent  and  crafty,  and  even  some- 
what of  a  knave  at  times,  like  many  Little  Rus- 
sians. He  was  a  frightful  egoist,  stubborn  as  a 
bull,  and,  taken  as  a  whole,  far  from  amiable, 
especially  with  strangers;  I  even  had  occasion  to 
note  in  him  something  akin  to  scorn  for  the  whole 
human  race.  He  denied  himself  nothing,  like 
a  spoiled  child,  did  not  care  a  rap  for  anybody, 
and  lived  "  at  his  ease."  He  and  I  once  fell  into 
conversation  about  marriages  in  general.  "  Mar- 
riage ....  marriage,"  said  he: — "  well,  to  whom 
shall  I  marry  my  girl,  damn  it?  well,  and  what 
for  ?  That  her  mean  little  husband  may  beat  her, 
as  I  used  to  beat  my  deceased  wife?  And  then, 
what  do  I  make  by  it? "  Such  was  retired  lieu- 
tenant Ivan  Semyonitch.  KolosofF  frequented 
his  house,  not  on  his  account,  of  course,  but  for 
the  sake  of  his  daughter.  One  fine  evening,  An- 
drei was  sitting  in  the  garden  with  her,  and 
chatting  about  something  or  other.  Ivan  Se- 
myonitch approached  them,  cast  a  glum  look  at 
Varya,  and  called  Andrei  to  one  side.  "Hearken, 
my  good  fellow,"  he  said  to  him,  "  I  perceive  that 
thou  findest  it  agreeable  to  chatter  with  my  only- 
begotten  ;  but  it  is  dull  for  me,  the  old  man.  Just 
bring  some  one  with  thee,  otherwise  I  shall  have 
no  one  with  whom  to  toss  the  cards  about;  dost 
hear  me?  I  won't  admit  thee  if  thou  comest 
alone."  On  the  following  day  Kolosoif  presented 

55 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

himself  with  GavriloiF,  and  poor  Sevastyan  Se- 
vastyanitch  played  cards  every  evening  during 
the  autumn  and  winter  with  the  retired  lieu- 
tenant ;  and  that  worthy  man  treated  him  without 
ceremony,  as  the  saying  is;  in  other  words,  very 
roughly.  And  now,  gentlemen,  you  have  prob- 
ably comprehended  why  KolosofF,  after  Gavri- 
lofF's  death,  took  me  with  him  to  Ivan  Semyo- 
nitch's.  Having  communicated  to  me  these 
particulars,  KolosoiF  added:  "  I  love  Varya;  she 
is  a  very  charming  girl ;  she  has  taken  a  Hking  to 
thee." 

I  think  I  have  forgotten  to  inform  you,  my 
dear  sirs,  that  up  to  that  time  I  had  been  afraid 
of  women  and  had  shunned  them,  although  it 
did  happen  that  when  I  was  alone  I  dreamed  for 
hours  at  a  time  of  trysts,  of  love,  of  mutual  love, 
and  so  forth.  Varvara  Ivanovna  was  the  first 
young  girl  with  whom  necessity  had  forced  me  to 
speak, — precisely  that,  necessity.  Varya  was  an 
ordinary  girl,  —  and  yet,  there  are  very  few  such 
girls  in  holy  Russia.  You  ask  me,  "  Why?  "  Be- 
cause I  never  observed  in  her  anything  stiff,  un- 
natural, affected;  because  she  was  a  simple, 
frank,  somewhat  melancholy  creature;  because 
she  could  not  be  called  "  a  young  lady."  I  liked 
her  quiet  smile;  I  liked  her  artlessly-ringing 
voice,  her  light  and  merry  laugh,  her  intent, 
though  not  in  the  least  "  profound "  glances. 
This  child  promised  nothing;  but  you  involun- 

56 


ANDREI  K6LOSOrF 

tarily  admired  her,  as  you  admired  the  sudden, 
soft  call  of  the  oriole  at  evening  in  the  lofty, 
gloomy  birch  coppice.  I  must  confess  that  at 
any  other  time  I  should  have  passed  by  such  a 
creature  with  considerable  indifference;  I  am 
in  no  mood  now  for  solitary  evening  strolls,  for 

orioles;  but  then 

Gentlemen,  I  think  that  you,  like  all  nice 
men,  have  been  in  love  at  least  once  in  the  course 
of  your  lives,  and  have  learned,  by  personal  ex- 
perience, how  love  germinates  and  grows  in  the 
human  heart;  and  therefore  I  will  not  enlarge 
overmuch  upon  what  went  on  within  me  at 
that  time.  KolosofF  and  I  went  quite  fre- 
quently to  Ivan  Semyonitch's ;  and,  although  the 
accursed  cards  more  than  once  drove  me  to  utter 
despair,  yet  in  the  mere  proximity  of  the  be- 
loved woman  (I  had  fallen  in  love  with  Varya), 
there  is  a  certain  strange,  sweet,  torturing  de- 
light. I  did  not  attempt  to  stifle  this  dawning 
sentiment;  moreover,  when,  at  last,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  call  that  sentiment  by  its  name,  it 
was  already  too  strong.  ...  I  silentty  cherished, 
and  timidly  concealed  my  love.  This  oppressive 
fermentation  of  silent  passion  pleased  me.  My 
sufferings  deprived  me  neither  of  sleep  nor  of 
appetite;  but  for  whole  days  together  I  felt  in 
my  breast  that  jjeculiar  physical  sensation,  which 
arose  within  me  when,  for  example,  Kolosoff  re- 
turned with  Varya  from  the  garden,  and  her 

57 


ANDREI   k6L0S0FF 

whole  face  exhaled  rapturous  devotion,  and  lan- 
guor from  excess  of  bliss.  .  .  .  She  lived  his  life 
to  such  a  degree,  she  was  so  permeated  with  him, 
that  she  imperceptibly  acquired  his  habits,  looked 
in  the  same  way,  laughed  in  the  same  way  as  he. 
....  I  can  imagine  what  moments  she  spent 
with  Andrei,  for  what  felicity  she  was  indebted 
to  him.  .  .  .  And  he  ...  .  KolosofF  did  not 
lose  his  liberty ;  in  her  absence,  I  do  not  think  that 
he  even  called  her  to  mind;  he  was  still  the  same 
care-free,  jolly,  and  happy  man,  as  we  had  al- 
ways known  him. 

So,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  Kolosoif  and  I 
went  pretty  often  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's.  Some- 
times (when  he  was  not  in  the  humour)  the  re- 
tired lieutenant  did  not  set  me  down  to  cards; 
in  that  case,  he  would  silently  slink  oiF  to  a  cor- 
ner, contract  his  brows  in  a  frown,  and  stare  at 
every  one  like  a  wolf.  The  first  time  I  de- 
lighted him  by  my  indulgence;  but  afterward,  I 
would  sometimes  begin  to  urge  him  to  sit  down 
to  a  hand  at  whist;  the  role  of  a  third  person 
is  so  unbearable!  I  embarrassed  KolosofF  and 
Varya  so  disagreeably,  although  they  assured 
each  other  that  there  was  no  reason  why  they 
should  stand  on  ceremony  in  my  presence!  .  .  . 

In  the  meanwhile,  time  flowed  on  and  on. 
....  They  were  happy.  ...  I  am  not  fond 
of  describing  other  people's  happiness.  But,  af- 
ter a  while,  I  began  to  notice  that  Varya's  child- 

58 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

ish  rapture  was  gradually  beginning  to  give  way 
to  a  more  womanly,  a  more  disquieting  feeling. 
I  began  to  surmise  that  the  new  tune  had  begun 
to  tinkle  in  the  old  fashion,  that  is  to  say,  that 
KolosofF  ....  was  growing  ....  slightly  cold. 
This  discovery  delighted  me,  I  must  admit ;  I  will 
confess  that  I  did  not  feel  the  slightest  indigna- 
tion against  Andrei. 

The  intervals  between  our  visits  became 
longer  and  longer.  .  .  .  Varya  began  to  wel- 
come us  with  tear-swollen  eyes.  Reproaches 
made  themselves  heard.  ...  I  would  ask  Ko- 
losofF, with  feigned  indifference :  "Well,  shall 
we  go  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's  to-day? "  .  .  .  .  He 
would  stare  coldly  at  me,  and  say  calmly:  "  No, 
we  shall  not."  It  sometimes  seemed  to  me  that  he 
smiled  in  a  wily  way  when  he  talked  with  me 
about  Varya.  .  .  .  Altogether,  I  did  not  fill 
GavrilofF's  place  with  him.  .  .  .  Gavriloff  was 
a  thousand  times  more  good-natured  and  stupid 
than  I  was. 

Now  permit  me  a  slight  digression.  In 
speaking  to  you  about  my  university  comrades, 
I  did  not  mention  a  certain  ShshtchitofF.  This 
ShshtchitofF  was  in  his  six-and-thirtieth  year; 
he  had  been  numbered  among  the  students  for 
ten  years  already.  Even  now  I  behold  vividly 
before  me  his  rather  long,  pale  face,  Iiis  little 
brown  ej^es,  his  long,  aquiline  nose  with  its  tip 
twisted  awry,  his  thin,  mocking  lips,  his  pom- 

59 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

pous  crest  of  hair,  his  chin,  which  wallowed  in  a 
self-satisfied   way   in   a   broad,    shabby   necker- 
chief of  the  hue  of  the  raven's  wing,  his  cuffs 
with   brass   buttons,    his    blue    frock-coat   worn 
open  on  the  breast,  his  motley-hued  waistcoat, 
....  I  seem  to  hear  his  disagreeable,  quavering 
laugh.  .  .  .  He   ran   about   everywhere,   distin- 
guished himself  at  every  possible  sort  of  a  "  danc- 
ing-class." ....  I  remember  that  I  could  not 
listen  without  a  shudder  to  his  cynical  stories. 
....  Kolosoff  one  day  compared  him  to  an 
unswept  room  in  a  Russian  eating-house  .... 
a  frightful  comparison !    And  yet,  that  man  pos- 
sessed an  immense  amount  of  brains,  common 
sense,  observation,  and  sagacity.  .  .  .  He  some- 
times astounded  us  with  some  word  so  practical, 
so  just,  so  keen,  that  we  all  involuntarily  fell 
silent,  and  stared  at  him  in  amazement.     But, 
you  know,  a  Russian  man  really  does  n't  care  in 
the  least  whether  he  has  uttered  a  bit  of  non- 
sense or  a  sensible  thing.     ShshtchitofF  was  par- 
ticularly feared  by  those  conceited,  dreamy  and 
incapable   striplings   who   painfully   hatch   out, 
after  whole  days  of  effort,  the  most  detestable 
rhymes,  read  them  in  drawling  tones  to  their 
"  friends,"  and  despise  all  positive  knowledge. 
One  of  these  he  simply  drove  out  of  Moscow  by 
incessantly  repeating  to  him  two  lines  of  his  own 
composition : 

"  Man  — 
That  unflayed  skeleton.   ..." 

60 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

He  had  rhymed  "  skeleton  "  with  "  man."  * 
Yet  ShshtchitofF  himself  did  nothing,  either,  and 
learned  nothing.  .  .  .  But  that  is  quite  in  the 
usual  order  of  things.  Well,  so  that  ShshtchitofF, 
God  knows  why,  began  to  jeer  at  my  romantic 
attachment  to  KolosofF.  On  the  first  occasion, 
I  consigned  him  to  the  devil,  with  noble  indig- 
nation; on  the  second  occasion,  I  informed  him, 
with  cold  scorn,  that  he  was  not  capable  of 
judging  our  friendship — but  I  did  not  drive 
him  away;  and  when,  as  he  took  leave  of  me,  he 
remarked  that  I  did  not  even  dare  to  praise  Ko- 
losofF without  the  latter's  permission,  I  felt 
vexed;  ShshtchitofF's  last  words  had  efFected  a 
lodgment  in  my  soul. — For  more  than  two 
weeks  I  had  not  seen  Varya.  .  .  .  Pride,  love, 
confused  anticipation— a  multitude  of  difFerent 
emotions  were  stirring  within  me.  ...  I  waved 
my  hand  in  despair,  and  with  a  frightful  sink- 
ing at  the  heart,  I  set  ofF  alone  to  Ivan  Semyo- 
nitch's. 

I  know  not  how  I  made  my  way  to  the  fa- 
miliar little  house;  I  remember  that  I  sat  down 
several  times  to  rest  on  the  road — not  from  fa- 
tigue, but  from  emotion.  I  entered  the  anteroom, 
and  before  I  had  managed  to  utter  a  single  word 
the  door  from  the  hall  flew  open,  and  Varya  ran 
out  to  meet  me. 

"  At  last!  "  —  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice; — 
"  but  where  is  Andrei  Nikolaevitch?  " 

^  Skeleton — skele't ;  mun  —  trheluvyek. — Translator. 

61 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

"  Kolosoff  has  not  come  .  ..."  I  muttered  with 
an  effort. 

"He  has  not  come!"— she  repeated. 

"  Yes  ...  he  bade  me  say  to  you  that  .... 
he  was  detained.  ..."  I  positively  did  not  know 
myself  what  I  was  saying,  and  dared  not  lift  my 
eyes.  Varya  stood  motionless  and  silent  before 
me.  I  darted  a  glance  at  her;  she  had  turned 
her  head  aside;  two  large  tears  were  rolling 
slowly  down  her  cheeks.  In  the  expression  of  her 
face  there  was  so  much  sudden,  bitter  grief,  the 
conflict  between  modesty,  distress,  and  confi- 
dence in  me  was  so  touchingly  depicted  in  the 
involuntary  movement  of  her  poor  little  head, 
that  my  heart  sank  within  me.  I  advanced  a 
little  ....  she  shuddered  swiftly  and  ran 
away.    In  the  hall  Ivan  Semyonitch  met  me. 

"  What  's  the  meaning  of  this,  my  dear  fel- 
low? Are  you  alone,  sir?  "  he  asked  me,  screwing 
up  his  left  eye  strangely. 

"  I  am,  sir,"  I  replied  in  confusion. 

Sidorenko  suddenly  burst  into  a  guffaw,  and 
retreated  into  the  adjoining  room.  Never  be- 
fore had  I  found  myself  in  so  utterly  stupid  a 
situation, — the  devil  knows  how  hateful  it  was! 
But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  began  to  pace 
back  and  forth  in  the  hall.—"  What  was  that 
fat  boar  laughing  at?  "—I  thought. 

Matryona  Semyonovna  emerged  into  the  hall 
with  a  stocking  in  her  hands,  and  seated  her- 

62 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

self  by  the  little  window.  I  began  to  chat  with 
her. 

In  the  meantime  tea  was  served.  Varya  came 
down-stairs,  pale  and  sorrowful.  The  retired 
lieutenant  jested  about  KolosofF. 

"  I  know,"— said  he,  "  what  sort  of  a  goose 
he  is:  now,  I  suppose,  you  could  n't  lure  him 
hither  even  with  a  kalatch !  "  * 

Varya  hastily  rose  and  withdrew.  Ivan  Se- 
myonitch  gazed  after  her,  whistling  roguishly  the 
while.  I  cast  an  angry  glance  at  him. — "  Can  it 
be,"— I  thought,  "that  he  knows  all?"  And 
the  lieutenant,  as  though  divining  my  thoughts, 
nodded  his  head  affirmatively. 

Immediately  after  tea  I  rose  and  took  my  leave. 
— "  We  shall  see  you  again,  my  dear  fellow," 
remarked  the  lieutenant.  I  did  not  say  a  single 
word  in  reply.  ...  I  had  simply  begun  to  be 
afraid  of  that  man. 

On  the  porch  some  one's  cold,  trembling  hand 
clasped  my  hand;  I  glanced  round:  it  was 
Varya. 

"  I  must  speak  with  you,"  she  whispered. — 
"  Come  as  early  as  possible  to-morrow,  straight 
to  the  garden.  Papa  takes  a  nap  after  dinner; 
no  one  will  disturb  us." 

I  pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  and  we  parted. 

On  the  following  day,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 

^  A  peculiarly  delicious  wheaten  roll,  which  is  made  with 
particular  skill  in  Moscow.— Thanslatob. 

63 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

afternoon,  I  was  already  in  Ivan  Semyonitch's 
garden.  I  had  not  seen  KolosofF  that  morning, 
although  he  had  dropped  in  to  call.  It  was  an 
autumn  day,  grey,  but  tranquil  and  warm.  The 
slender  yellow  blades  of  grass  swayed  mourn- 
fully over  the  faded  lawn;  alert  tomtits  were 
hopping  over  the  naked,  dark-brown  branches  of 
the  hickory-tree ;  belated  larks  were  running  hur- 
riedly along  the  paths  somewhere;  a  hare  was 
cautiously  making  his  way  through  the  vege- 
tables; the  herd  was  roaming  idly  over  the  stub- 
ble-field. I  found  Varya  in  the  garden,  under 
an  apple-tree,  seated  on  a  bench ;  she  wore  a  dark, 
somewhat  rumpled  gown;  unfeigned  grief  was 
expressed  in  her  weary  glance,  and  in  her  care- 
lessly-arranged hair. 

I  sat  down  by  her  side.  Both  of  us  maintained 
silence.  For  a  long  time  she  twirled  in  her  hands 
some  flower  or  other,  then  bent  her  head,  and  said : 

"  Andrei  Nikolaevitch.  .  .  ." 

I  immediately  observed  from  the  movement 
of  her  lips  that  she  was  preparing  to  weep,  and 
I  began  to  comfort  her,  to  assure  her  fervently 
of  Andrei's  devotion.  .  .  .  She  heard  me  out, 
shook  her  head  sorrowfullj^  uttered  unintel- 
ligible words,  and  immediately  relapsed  into 
silence,  but  did  not  weep.  The  first  moments, 
which  I  had  dreaded  most  of  all,  passed  off  quite 
successfully.  Gradually,  she  began  to  talk  about 
Andrei. 

64 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

"I  know  he  no  longer  loves  me  now," — she  kept 
repeating:  "  God  bless  him!  I  cannot  think  how  I 
am  to  live  without  him.  ...  I  do  not  sleep  at 
night,  I  weep  continually.  .  .  .  But  what  am  I 
to  do?  ....  What  am  I  to  do?  "  .  .  .  .  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  He  seemed  so  good  to 
me  ....  and  now  .  .  .  ." 

Varya  wiped  away  her  tears,  coughed,  and 
drew  herself  up. 

"  It  does  not  seem  so  very  long,"  she  went  on, 
*'  since  he  read  to  me  out  of  Pushkin,  since  he  sat 
with  me  on  this  bench.  .  .  ." 

Varya's  ingenuous  chatter  touched  me;  I  lis- 
tened in  silence  to  her  avowal;  my  soul  slowly 
became  imbued  with  a  bitter,  torturing  felicity; 
I  never  took  my  eyes  from  that  pale  face,  from 
those  long,  wet  eyelashes,  from  those  half -parted, 
slightly-parched  lips.  .  .  .  And  yet,  I  felt  .... 
Would  you  like  to  listen  to  a  brief  psychological 
analysis  of  my  sentiments  at  that  moment?  In 
the  first  place,  I  was  tormented  by  the  thought 
that  I  was  not  beloved,  that  it  was  not  I  who  was 
causing  Varya  to  suffer;  in  the  second  place,  I  was 
delighted  by  her  confidence;  I  knew  that  she 
would  be  grateful  for  my  having  furnished  her 
the  possibility  of  putting  her  grief  into  words; 
in  the  third  place,  I  inwardly  registered  a  vow 
to  bring  Kolosoff  and  Varya  together  again,  and 
the  consciousness  of  my  magnanimity  comforted 
me  ....  in  the  fourth  place,  I  hoped  by  my  self- 

65 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

sacrifice  to  touch  Varya's  heart— and  then  .... 
you  see,  I  do  not  spare  myself;  thank  God,  it  is 
time!  But  now,  the  clock  on  the  belfry  of  the 
***  monastery  struck  five;  evening  was  swiftly 
drawing  on.  Varya  hastily  rose  to  her  feet, 
thrust  into  my  hand  a  tiny  note,  and  went  to- 
ward the  house.  I  overtook  her,  promised  her  to 
bring  Andrei,  and  darted  swiftly,  as  though  I 
were  a  happy  lover,  through  the  wicket-gate  into 
the  fields.  On  the  note,  in  uncertain  chirography, 
were  inscribed  the  words:  "  To  my  dear  sir,  An- 
drei Nikolaevitch." 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  following  day, 
I  set  out  for  KolosofF.  I  must  confess  that, 
although  I  had  assured  myself  that  my  in- 
tentions were  not  only  noble,  but  even,  as  a 
whole,  filled  with  magnanimous  self-sacrifice,  I 
nevertheless  was  conscious  of  a  certain  awkward- 
ness, even  of  timidity.  Sitting  with  him  was  a 
certain  Puzyritzyn,  a  student  who  had  failed  to 
pass  his  examinations,  one  of  the  composers  of 
romances  known  under  the  name  of  "  Moscow  " 
or  "  popular."  ^  Puzyritzyn  was  an  extremely 
good-natured  and  timid  man,  and  was  eternally 
making  ready  to  enter  the  hussars,  in  spite  of  his 
three-and-thirty  years.  He  belonged  to  the  cate- 
gory of  people  who  find  it  unavoidably  necessary 
to  give  utterance  once  every  twenty-four  hours 

^  Literally,  grey,  which  is  one  appellation  for  the  commoD 
people. —Translator. 

66 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

to  some  such  phrase  as,  "  all  the  most  beautiful 
things  perish  at  the  moment  of  their  sumptuous 
blossoming, — such  is  the  fate  of  the  beautiful  in 
this  world,"  so  that,  during  all  the  rest  of  the 
day,  they  may  with  befitting  agreeability  smoke 
a  pipe  in  the  circle  of  their  "  good  comrades." 
For  that  reason,  also,  he  was  called  an  idealist. 
So  then,  this  Puzyritzyn  was  sitting  with  K6- 
losofF,  and  reading  to  him  some  "  fragment." 
I  set  to  listening :  the  question  concerned  a  young 
man  who  loves  a  girl,  murders  her,  and  so  forth. 
At  last  Puzyritzyn  came  to  an  end,  and  went 
away.  His  absurd  composition,  his  rapturously 
bawling  voice,  his  presence,  as  a  whole,  had 
aroused  Kolosoif's  jeering  irritability.  I  felt 
that  I  had  come  at  a  bad  time,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it;  without  any  prefatory  remarks,  I 
handed  Varya's  note  to  Andrei. 

KolosofF  stared  at  me  in  amazement,  broke 
the  seal  of  the  note,  ran  his  eyes  over  it,  and  pre- 
served silence  for  a  while,  smiling  composedly. 
—"Well,  now!"— he  ejaculated  at  last.— "  So 
thou  hast  been  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  there  alone  yesterday  evening," — 
I  replied  abruptly  and  decisively. 

"  Ah!  "—remarked  Kolosoff  with  a  sneer,  and 
lighted  his  pipe. 

"  Andrei,"— I  said  to  him,—"  art  not  thou 
sorry  for  her?  ...  If  thou  couldst  but  have  seen 
her  tears.  .  .  ."  And  I  began  eloquently  to  de- 

67 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 


scribe  my  visit  of  the  preceding  day.  I  really  was 
much  affected. 

Kolosoff  maintained  silence,  and  smoked  his 
pipe. 

"  Didst  thou  sit  with  her  under  the  apple-tree 
in  the  garden?  " — he  said  at  last.  "  I  remember 
that  in  May  I  sat  with  her  on  that  same  bench. 
.  .  .  .  The  apple-tree  was  in  blossom;  now  and 
then  the  fresh,  white  flowers  fell  on  us;  I  held 
both  of  Varya's  hands  ....  we  were  happy 
then.  .  .  .  Now  the  apple-tree  is  out  of  bloom, 
and  the  apples  on  it  are  sour." 

I  flared  up  with  noble  indignation,  and  began 
to  upbraid  Andrei  for  his  coldness,  his  cruelty; 
I  began  to  argue  with  him  that  he  had  no  right 
to  abandon  so  suddenly  a  young  girl  in  whom 
he  had  aroused  a  multitude  of  new  impressions ;  I 
entreated  him  at  least  to  go  and  take  leave  of 
Varya.  Kolosoff  listened  to  me  until  I  had  fin- 
ished. 

"  Let  us  assume," — he  said  to  me,  when,  agi- 
tated and  weary,  I  flung  myself  into  an  easy- 
chair: — "  let  us  assume  that  it  is  permissible  for 
thee,  as  my  friend,  to  condemn  me.  .  .  .  But 
listen  now  to  my  justification,  although  .  .  .  ." 

Here  he  paused  awhile,  and  smiled  strangely. 

"  Varya  is  a  very  fine  girl," — he  continued, 
"  and  is  guilty  of  no  wrong  whatsoever  toward 
me.  .  .  .  On  the  contrary  I  am  indebted  to  her 
for  a  very  great  deal.    I  have  ceased  to  visit  her 

68 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

for  a  very  simple  reason— I  have  ceased  to  love 
her.  .  .  ." 

"But  why?  but  why?  "—I  interrupted  him. 

"  God  knows  why.  So  long  as  I  loved  her,  I 
belonged  wholly  to  her;  I  did  not  think  of  the 
future,  and  shared  everything,  my  whole  life 
with  her  ....  now  that  passion  has  died  out  in 
me.  .  .  .  What  then?  dost  thou  bid  me  dissimu- 
late, pretend  to  be  in  love,  pray?  And  why? 
Out  of  pity  for  her?  If  she  is  an  honest  girl,  she 
herself  will  not  desire  such  alms,  but  if  she  is  glad 
to  console  herself  with  my  ....  sympathy,  the 
devil  's  in  her!  " 

KolosoiF's  heedlessly  sharp  expressions  of- 
fended me,  possibly  all  the  more  because  I  was 
secretly  in  love  with  the  woman  in  question.  .  .  . 
I  flared  up. 

"  Enough,"— I  said  to  him:— "stop  that!  I 
know  why  thou  hast  ceased  to  visit  Varya." 

"Why  is  it?" 

"  Taniusha  has  forbidden  thee."  In  uttering 
these  words,  I  fancied  that  I  had  violently  of- 
fended Andrei.  This  Taniusha  was  an  ex- 
tremely "  light  "  young  lady,  black -haired  and 
swarthy,  aged  five-and-twenty,  as  free  and  easy 
and  as  clever  as  the  devil,  a  ShshtchitofF  in  female 
garb.  KolosofF  quarrelled  wdth  her  and  made 
peace  with  her  five  times  a  month.  She  loved 
him  passionately,  although  at  times,  wlien  they 
were  estranged,  she  vowed  and  swore  that  she 

69 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

thirsted  for  his  blood  ....  and  Andrei  could 
not  get  along  without  her.  KolosofF  looked  at 
me  and  calmly  remarked:  "  Perhaps." 

"  It  is  not  '  perhaps,'  but  certainly!  "  I  yelled. 

At  last  my  reproaches  bored  KolosofF.  .  .  . 
He  rose  and  put  on  his  cap. 

"Whither  away?" 

"  For  a  stroll;  you  and  Puzy ritzy n  have  given 
me  a  headache." 

"  Art  thou  angry  with  me?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  his  charming  smile, 
and  offered  me  his  hand. 

"  At  any  rate,  what  dost  thou  bid  me  say  to 
Vary  a?  " 

"  What? "  .  .  .  .  He  pondered  for  a  while. 

"  She  told  thee,"  he  said, — "  that  she  and  I  had 
read  Pushkin  together.  .  .  .  Remind  her  of  one 
of  Pushkin's  verses." 

"Of  which  one?  "  I  asked  impatiently. 

"  Why,  of  this  one: 

*That  which  has  been  shall  never  be  again.  **  '* 

With  these  words  he  left  the  room.  I  followed 
him;  on  the  stairs  he  paused. 

"  And  is  she  greatly  grieved? "  he  asked  me, 
pulling  his  cap  down  over  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  very  greatly!  "... 

"  Poor  girl !  Do  thou  console  her,  Nikolai ;  for 
thou  lovest  her." 

70 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

"  Yes,  I  have  become  attached  to  her,  of 
course.  ..." 

"Thou  lovest  her," — repeated  Kolosoif,  look- 
ing me  straight  in  the  eye.  I  turned  away  in 
silence;  we  parted. 

On  reaching  home,  I  was,  as  it  were,  in  a  fever. 

"I  have  fulfilled  my  duty,"  I  thought;  "  I  have 
conquered  my  own  self-love ;  I  have  advised  An- 
drei to  make  up  with  Varya!  !  .  .  Now  I  have 
rights:  he  that  will  not  when  he  may,  when  he 
would  he  shall  have  nay."  Nevertheless,  Andrei's 
indifference  wounded  me.  He  was  not  jealous 
of  me,  he  had  ordered  me  to  console  her.  .  .  . 
"  But  is  Varya  such  an  ordinary  girl? ....  Is  she 
not  worthy  even  of  compassion?  ....  People 
will  be  found  who  will  understand  how  to  prize 
that  which  you  despise,  Andrei  Nikolaitch!  .... 
But  what  's  the  use?  Surely,  she  does  not  love 
me.  .  .  .  Yes,  she  does  not  love  me  now;  up  to 
this  time  she  has  not  utterly  lost  hope  that 
Kolosoff  will  return.  .  .  .  But  later  on  ...  . 
who  knows?  my  devotion  will  touch  her,  I  shall 
renounce  all  claims.  ...  I  shall  give  her  the 
whole  of  myself,  irrevocably.  .  .  .  Varya!  is  it 
possible  that  thou  wilt  not  come  to  love  me  .  .  . 
never?  ....  never?  .  .  ." 

That  was  the  sort  of  speeches  which  your 
humble  servant  uttered  in  the  capital  city  Mos- 
cow, in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
thirty-three,  in  the  house  of  his  respected  tutor. 

71 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

I  wept  ....  I  languished.  .  .  .  The  weather 
was  atrocious  ...  a  fine,  drizzling  rain  streamed 
with  a  thin,  persistent  squeak  down  the  window- 
panes;  damp,  dark-grey  clouds  hung  motion- 
lessly  over  the  town.  I  dined  in  haste,  made  no 
reply  to  the  anxious  queries  of  the  good-natured 
German  woman,  who  began  to  whimper  herself 
at  the  sight  of  my  red,  swollen  eyes  (German 
women — as  everybody  knows — are  always  ready 
to  cry)  ;  I  behaved  in  a  very  ruthless  manner  to 
my  tutor  ....  and  immediately  after  dinner, 
I  set  off  for  Ivan  Semyonitch's  house.  .  .  . 
Having  asserted  my  sovereign  mastery  over  a 
shaky,  wretched  little  drozhky,  I  asked  myself: 
"  What  now?  Shall  I  tell  Vary  a  everything, 
just  as  it  is,  or  shall  I  continue  to  be  wily,  and 
wean  her,  little  by  little,  from  Andrei?  "  .  .  .  . 
I  drove  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's  house,  and  still  did 
not  know  what  to  decide  upon.  ...  I  found  the 
whole  family  in  the  hall.  Varya  turned  fright- 
fully pale  when  she  saw  me,  but  did  not  stir  from 
her  place;  Sidorenko  began  to  talk  to  me  in  a 
peculiarly  jeering  sort  of  manner.  I  answered 
him  as  best  I  could,  from  time  to  time  darting  a 
glance  at  Varya,  and  almost  unconsciously  im- 
parted to  my  countenance  a  dejectedly  pensive 
expression.  Again  the  lieutenant  made  up  a 
whist-party.  Varya  seated  herself  near  the  win- 
dow, and  did  not  move. 

"Thou  art  bored  now,   I   suppose?" — Ivan 

72 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

Semyonitch  asked  her  a  score  of  times.  At  last 
I  succeeded  in  snatching  a  suitable  moment. 

"  You  are  alone  again,"  Vary  a  whispered  to 
me. 

"Yes,"  I  replied  gloomily: — "and,  in  all 
probability,  for  a  long  time." 

She  swiftly  dropped  her  head. 

"  Did  you  give  him  my  note? "  she  said,  in  a 
barely  audible  voice. 

"  Yes." 

"Well?" 

She  sighed.  I  glanced  at  her.  ...  A  mali- 
cious joy  suddenly  flashed  up  within  me. 

"  He  bade  me  tell  you,"  I  enunciated,  paus- 
ing between  my  words,  "  '  that  which  has  been 
shall  never  be  again.'  " 

Varya  clutched  at  her  heart  with  her  left 
hand,  extended  her  right  in  front  of  her;  her 
whole  form  swayed,  and  she  hastily  left  the 
room.  I  started  to  run  after  her.  .  .  .  Ivan 
Semyonitch  stopped  me.  I  remained  another 
half  hour  with  him,  but  Varya  did  not  make  her 
appearance.  On  my  way  home,  I  felt  conscience- 
stricken  ....  conscience-stricken  toward  Va- 
rya, toward  Andrei,  toward  myself.  Although, 
they  say,  it  is  better  to  hew  off  at  one  blow  a  suf- 
fering member  than  to  weary  a  sick  person 
for  a  long  time,  yet  who  had  given  me  the  right 
so  ruthlessly  to  stab  the  heart  of  the  poor  young 
girl?  ....  For  a  long  time  I   could  not  get 

73 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

to  sleep  ....  but  fall  asleep  I  did  at  last.  In 
general,  I  must  repeat,  "  love  "  never  once  has 
deprived  me  of  my  sleep. 

I  began  to  visit  Ivan  Semyonitch's  house 
quite  frequently:  KolosofF  and  I  met,  as  before, 
but  neither  he  nor  I  mentioned  Varya.  My  re- 
lations to  her  were  of  a  decidedly  strange  nature. 
She  had  become  attached  to  me  with  that  affec- 
tion which  precludes  all  possibility  of  love;  she 
could  not  fail  to  notice  my  fervent  sympathy, 
and  chatted  willingly  with  me  ....  about  what, 
do  you  think? — about  Kolosoff,  about  KolosofF 
alone!  That  man  had  taken  possession  of  her 
to  such  a  degree  that  somehow  she  did  not  seem 
to  belong  to  herself.  In  vain  did  I  try  to  arouse 
her  pride  .  .  .  she  either  held  her  peace,  or 
talked,  and  how!— fairly  chattered  about  Ko- 
losofF! I  did  not  then  suspect  that  grief  of  that 
sort,  loquacious  grief,  is,  in  reality,  far  more  gen- 
uine than  all  silent  sufferings.  I  confess  that 
I  lived  through  many  bitter  moments  during  that 
period.  I  felt  that  I  was  not  capable  of  taking 
KolosofF's  place;  I  felt  that  Varya's  past  was  so 
full,  so  beautiful  ....  and  the  present  so  poor. 
....  I  reached  the  point  where  I  involuntarily 
shuddered  at  the  words,  "  Do  you  remember?  " 
....  with  which  almost  every  speech  of  hers 
began.  She  grew  rather  thin  during  the  first 
days  of  our  acquaintance  ....  but  afterward 
she  recovered  her  health,  and  even  waxed  merry; 

74 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

at  that  time,  she  might  have  been  compared  to  a 
little  bird  which  has  been  wounded,  and  has  not, 
as  yet,  fully  recovered.  In  the  meantime,  my 
position  had  become  unbearable;  the  very  lowest 
passions  gradually  began  to  take  possession  of 
my  soul;  it  even  befell  that  I  calumniated  K6- 
losoff  in  the  presence  of  Varya.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  put  an  end  to  such  unnatural  relations. 
But  how?  Part  from  Varya  I  could  not.  .  .  . 
Declare  my  love  to  her  I  dared  not ;  I  felt  that  I 
could  not,  as  yet,  hope  that  it  would  be  recipro- 
cated. Marry  her.  .  .  .  That  thought  terrified 
me;  I  was  only  eighteen  years  of  age;  it  seemed 
terrible  to  me  to  "  enslave  "  my  whole  future  so 
early:  I  remembered  my  father,  I  heard  the  jeers 
of  my  comrade  Kolosoif.  .  .  .  But,  it  is  said, 
every  thought  is  like  dough;  it  is  worth  while  to 
knead  it  well — and  you  can  make  anything  out  of 
it.  I  began  to  meditate  on  marriage  for  whole 
days  at  a  time.  ...  I  pictured  to  myself  with 
what  gratitude  Varya's  heart  would  be  filled  to 
overflowing  when  I,  Kolosoff 's  comrade  and  con- 
fidant, should  offer  her  my  hand,  knowing  that 
she  was  hopelessly  in  love  with  another.  Expe- 
rienced people,  I  recollected,  had  frequently  told 
me  that  marrying  for  love  was  the  most  absolute 
folly;  I  began  to  indulge  in  fancies:  I  pictured 
to  myself  our  tranquil  life  together,  somewhere  in 
a  warm  corner  of  southern  Russia;  I  mentally 
watched  the  gradual  transition  of  Varya's  heart 

75 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

from  gratitude  to  friendship,  from  friendship 
to  love.  ...  I  promised  myself  that  I  would 
immediately  leave  Moscow,  and  the  university, 
and  forget  everything  and  everybody.  I  began 
to  avoid  meeting  KolosofF.  At  last,  on  one  clear, 
winter  morning  (on  the  evening  before  Varya 
had,  somehow,  peculiarly  enchanted  me),  I 
dressed  myself  in  my  best,  emerged  slowly  and 
solemnly  from  my  chamber,  hired  a  capital 
drozhky,  and  drove  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's.  Va- 
rya was  sitting  alone  in  the  hall,  and  reading 
Karamzin.^  At  sight  of  me,  she  softly  laid  her 
book  on  her  lap,  and  with  anxious  curiosity  gazed 
into  my  face:  I  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
going  to  them  in  the  morning.  ...  I  seated  my- 
self by  her  side ;  my  heart  beat  torturingly. 

"  What  are  you  reading?  "  I  asked  at  last. 

"  Karamzin." 

"  Well?  are  you  interested  in  Russian  ...  ?  '* 
She  suddenly  interrupted  me. 

"Listen;  you  do  not  come  from  Andrei,  do 
you?" 

That  name,  the  tremulous,  questioning  voice, 
the  all- joyful,  half -timid  expression  of  her  face, 
all  those  indubitable  tokens  of  living  love  sank 
into  my  soul  like  arrows.  I  made  up  my  mind 
either  to  part  from  Varya,  or  to  receive  from  her 
herself  the  right  forever  to  banish  from  her  hps 

•I  The  famous  historian.     He  also  wrote  a  number  of  much-admired 
sentimental  high-strung  tales  (1765-i826).— Translator. 

76 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

the  hateful  name  of  Andrei.  I  do  not  remember 
what  I  said  to  her  then;  at  first  I  must  have  ex- 
pressed myself  somewhat  obscurely,  because  she 
did  not  understand  me  for  a  long  time;  at  last, 
I  could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  I  almost 
shrieked:  "  I  love  you,  and  I  want  to  marry  you." 

"You  love  me?"  said  Varya,  in  amazement. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  she  wanted  to  rise,  to  go 
away,  to  reject  me. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  I  whispered  panting, — 
"  do  not  answer  me  either  '  yes  '  or  '  no  ' ;  re- 
flect: to-morrow  I  will  return  for  a  decisive  an- 
swer. ...  I  have  loved  you  this  long  time,  I 
want  to  be  your  defender,  your  friend.  Do  not 
answer  me  now,  do  not  answer.  .  .  .  Farewell 
until  to-morrow." 

With  these  words,  I  rushed  out  of  the  room. 
Ivan  Semyonitch  met  me  in  the  anteroom,  and 
not  only  was  not  surprised  at  my  call,  but  even, 
with  an  agreeable  smile,  offered  me  an  apple. 
Such  an  unexpected  piece  of  amiability  startled 
me  so  that  I  was  fairly  petrified. 

"  Pray,  take  the  apple;  't  is  a  good  little  apple, 
really!"  repeated  Ivan  Semyonitch.  I  mechan- 
ically took  the  apple  at  last  and  drove  home  with 
it. 

You  can  easily  imagine  how  I  passed  all  that 
day  and  the  following  morning.  I  slept  pretty 
badly  that  night.  "My  God!  My  God!"  I 
thought:  "  what  if  she  should  refuse  me  I  .... 

77 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

I  shall  perish,  ....  I  shall  perish,  .  ..."  I  kept 
repeating  despondently.   "Yes,  she  will  infallibly 

reject  me.  .  .  .  And  why  was  I  so  hasty!  !  " 

Being  desirous  of  diverting  my  mind  in  some 
manner,  I  began  to  write  a  letter  to  my  father — 
a  desperate,  a  decisive  letter.  In  speaking  of 
myself,  I  used  the  words  "  your  son."  BobofF 
dropped  in  to  see  me.  I  began  to  weep  upon  his 
breast,  which,  probably,  surprised  BoboiF  not 
a  little.  ...  I  then  learned  that  he  had  come 
to  me  to  borrow  money  (his  landlord  had  threat- 
ened to  eject  him  from  the  house)  ;  he  had  been 
obliged— speaking  in  the  student  language — 
"to  withdraw  backward  and  return.  .  .  ."  At 
last,  the  great  moment  arrived.  As  I  emerged 
from  my  room,  I  stopped  in  the  doorway.  "  With 
what  feelings,"  I  thought,  "  shall  I  step  across 
this  threshold  again?"  ....  My  agitation,  at 
the  sight  of  Ivan  Semyonitch's  little  house,  was 
so  powerful  that  I  ahghted  from  the  carriage, 
got  a  handful  of  snow,  and  eagerly  pressed  my 
face  to  it.  "O  Lord!"  I  thought:  "if  I  find 
Varya  alone,— I  am  lost!  "  My  legs  gave  way 
beneath  me;  I  barely  managed  to  mount  the 
porch.  My  wishes  were  fulfilled.  I  found  Va- 
rya in  the  drawing-room  with  Matryona  Semyo- 
novna.  I  made  my  bows  awkwardly,  and  seated 
myself  by  the  old  woman.  Varya's  face  was 
somewhat  paler  than  usual  ....  it  seemed  to 
me  that  she  was  trying  to  avoid  my  glances.  .  .  . 

78 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

But  what  was  my  state  of  mind  when  Matryona 
Semyonovna  suddenly  rose,  and  went  into  the 
next  room !  .  .  .  I  began  to  stare  out  of  the  win- 
dow—I was  quivering  all  over  internally  like  an 
aspen-leaf.  Varya  maintained  silence.  .  .  .  At 
last  I  conquered  my  timidity,  stepped  up  to  her, 
bent  my  head.  .  .  . 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me?  "  I  enunciated 
in  a  dying  voice.  Varj^a  turned  away, — tears 
sparkled  on  her  eyelashes. 

"  I  see,"  I  went  on,  "  that  it  is  useless  for  me 
to  hope."  ....  Varya  cast  a  bashful  glance 
around,  and  silently  gave  me  her  hand. 

"Varya!"  I  said  involuntarily  ....  and 
halted,  as  though  frightened  at  my  own  hopes. 

*'  Speak  to  papa,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Do  you  permit  me  to  speak  to  Ivan  Semyo- 
nitch?" 

"  Yes,  sir."    I  showered  kisses  on  her  hands. 

"  Enough,  sir;  enough,  sir,"  whispered  Varya 
— and  suddenly  burst  into  tears.  I  sat  down 
beside  her,  soothed  her,  and  wiped  away  her 
tears.  .  .  .  Luckily,  Ivan  Semyonitch  was  not  at 
home,  and  JMatryona  Semyonovna  had  gone  off 
to  her  little  chamber  up-stairs.  I  swore  love  and 
fidelity  to  Varj'^a.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  repressing  her  final  sobs  and 
incessantly  wiping  away  her  tears:— "I  know 
that  you  are  a  good  man;  you  are  an  honourable 
man;  you  are  not  like  Kolosoff.  .  .  ." 

79 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

"  Again  that  name?  "  ....  I  thought.  But 
with  what  dehght  did  I  kiss  those  warm,  moist 
httle  hands!  with  what  quiet  joy  did  I  gaze  into 
that  sweet  face !....!  talked  to  her  of  the  fu- 
ture, I  strode  about  the  room,  I  sat  down  in  front 
of  her  on  the  floor,  I  covered  my  eyes  with  my 
hand  and  shuddered.  .  .  .  Ivan  Semyonitch's 
heavy  tread  broke  off  our  conversation.  Varya 
rose  hastily  and  went  off  to  her  own  room— but 
without  pressing  my  hand  or  glancing  at  me. 
Mr.  Sidorenko  was  still  more  amiable  than  he 
had  been  on  the  preceding  day:  he  laughed, 
rubbed  his  belly,  made  jokes  at  the  expense  of 
Matryona  Semyonovna,  and  so  forth.  I  would 
have  liked  to  ask  his  "  blessing  "  on  the  spot,  but 
changed  my  mind,  and  deferred  it  until  the  mor- 
row. His  ponderous  jests  bored  me;  moreover,  I 
felt  tired.  ...  I  took  leave  of  him  and  drove 
away. 

I  belong  to  the  category  of  people  who  are 
fond  of  meditating  on  their  own  sensations,  al- 
though I  cannot  endure  such  people  myself. 
And  therefore,  after  the  first  outburst  of  heart- 
felt joy,  I  immediately  began  to  surrender  my- 
self to  various  reflections.  When  I  had  driven 
about  half  a  verst  from  the  house  of  the  retired 
lieutenant,  I  tossed  my  cap  into  the  air  in  excess 
of  rapture,  and  shouted:  "  Hurrah!  "  But  while 
I  was  wending  my  way  through  the  long  and 
crooked  streets  of  Moscow,  my  thoughts  gradu- 

80 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

ally  took  another  turn.  Divers  decidedly  dirty 
doubts  began  to  bustle  about  in  my  soul.  I  re- 
called my  conversation  with  Ivan  Semyonitch 
about  marriage  in  general  ....  and  involun- 
tarily said,  in  an  undertone :  "  Just  think  what  a 
hypocrite  the  old  rascal  is!"  .  .  .  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  kept  incessantly  reiterating:  "But,  on  the 
other  hand,  Varya  is  mine!  mine!"  ....  But, 
in  the  first  place,  that  "  but " — okh,  that  but! — 
and,  in  the  second  place,  the  words  "  Varya  is 
mine!"  awakened  in  me  not  a  profound,  shat- 
tering joy,  but  some  sort  of  commonplace,  con- 
ceited rapture.  ...  If  Varya  had  flatly  rejected 
me  I  would  have  flamed  up  with  wild  passion; 
but,  having  obtained  her  consent,  I  resembled  a 
man  who  has  said  to  a  guest:  "Make  yourself 
at  home  " — and  the  guest  actually  begins  to  dis- 
pose of  things  in  the  room,  as  though  it  were 
his  own  house.  "  If  she  loved  Kolosofl","  I 
thought,  "  how  is  it  that  she  has  so  speedily  con- 
sented? Evidently,  she  is  glad  to  marry  any- 
body. .  .  .  Well,  and  what  of  that?  So  much  the 
better  for  me."  ....  With  these  strange  and 
troubled  feelings  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  my 
home.  Perhaps  you  think  my  story  lacking  in 
plausibility,  gentlemen?  I  do  not  know  whether 
it  resembles  the  trutli,  but  I  do  know  that  every- 
thing which  I  have  told  you  is  the  complete  and 
genuine  truth.  However,  during  the  whole  of 
that  day  I  gave  myself  up  to  feverish  merri- 

81 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 


ment,  told  myself  that  I  simply  did  not  deserve 
such  happiness;  but  the  next  morning  .... 

A  wonderful  thing  is  sleep!  It  not  only  re- 
news the  body,  in  a  certain  way  it  also  renews  the 
soul,  restores  it  to  its  pristine  simplicity  and 
naturalness.  In  the  course  of  the  day  you  have 
succeeded  in  tuning  yourself  up  to  concert  pitch, 
in  becoming  permeated  with  falsehood,  with  ly- 
ing thoughts  ....  sleep,  with  its  cold  flood, 
washes  away  all  these  wretched  quibbles,  and,  on 
awakening,  you  are  capable,  for  a  few  moments 
at  least,  of  comprehending  and  loving  the  truth. 
I  awoke,  and  on  reflecting  upon  the  past  day,  I 
felt  conscious  of  a  certain  awkwardness  ....  I 
felt  rather  ashamed  of  all  my  pranks.  With 
involuntary  uneasiness  I  thought  of  my  visit' 
which  was  to  be  made  that  day,  about  the  ex- 
planation with  Ivan  Semyonitch.  .  .  .  This  un- 
easiness was  torturing  and  fatiguing;  it  resem- 
bled the  uneasiness  of  a  hare  which  hears  the 
baying  of  the  hounds,  and  must  at  last  emerge 
from  its  native  forest  into  the  fields  .  .  .  while 
in  the  fields  the  sharp-fanged  harriers  are  await- 
ing it.  .  .  .  "  Why  was  I  in  such  a  hurry!  "  I 
repeated,  as  on  the  preceding  evening,  but  in 
quite  another  sense  now.  I  remember  that  that 
frightful  difl'erence  between  yesterday  and  to- 
day surprised  even  me;  it  then  occurred  to  me 
for  the  first  time  that  mysteries  lie  hidden  in 
the  life  of  man— strange  mysteries.  .  .  .  With 

82 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

childish  perplexity  I  gazed  at  that  new,  non-fan- 
tastic, actual  world.  By  the  word  "  actuality  " 
many  persons  mean  the  word  "  triviality."  Per- 
haps that  is  sometimes  the  case ;  but  I  must  con- 
fess that  the  first  appearance  of  actuality  to  me 
shook  me  profoundly,  frightened  me,  startled 
me.  ... 

What  big  speeches  on  the  subject  of  love 
which  has  not  had  its  dance  out,  to  speak  in 
Gogol's  words!  ...  I  will  return  to  my  story. 
In  the  course  of  that  morning,  I  again  assured 
myself  that  I  was  the  happiest  of  mortals.  I 
drove  out  of  town  to  Ivan  Semyonitch's.  He 
received  me  very  joyfully;  he  started  to  go  off 
to  a  neighbour's,  but  I  stopped  him.  I  was 
afraid  to  remain  alone  with  Varya.  That  even- 
ing passed  cheerfully  but  not  comfortably. 
Varya  was  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other,  nei- 
ther amiable  nor  sad  ....  neither  pretty  nor 
homely.  I  scanned  her,  as  the  philosophers  say, 
with  the  objective  eye — that  is,  as  a  satiated  man 
gazes  at  food.  I  decided  that  her  hands  were  ra- 
ther red.  However,  my  blood  grew  hot  within  me 
at  intervals,  and,  as  I  gazed  at  her,  I  surrendered 
myself  to  other  reveries  and  thoughts.  It  was 
not  so  very  long  since  I  had  made  a  so-called 
proposal,  and  here  already  I  was  feeling  that  she 
and  I  were  living  the  conjugal  life  ....  that 
our  souls  already  constituted  one  very  beautiful 
whole,  belonged  to  each  other,  and,  consequently, 

83 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

were  trying  to  search  out,  each  for  itself,  its 
special  path.  .  .  . 

"Well,  have  you  spoken  to  papa?"  Varya 
said  to  me,  when  she  and  I  were  left  alone  to- 
gether. That  question  displeased  me  dreadfully. 
...  I  thought  to  myself: — "  You  're  in  an  aw- 
ful hurry,  Varvara  Ivanovna!  " 

"No,  not  yet,"  I  replied  rather  drily: — "but 
I  will  speak  to  him." 

Altogether,  I  treated  her  somewhat  care- 
lessly. In  spite  of  my  promise,  I  said  nothing 
decisive  to  Ivan  Semyonitch.  When  I  went 
away  I  pressed  his  hand  significantly,  and  in- 
formed him  that  I  must  have  a  talk  with  him 
....  that  was  all.  .  .  . 

"  Good-bye!  "  I  said  to  Varya.  ' 

"  Until  we  meet  again,"  said  she. 

I  will  not  weary  you  long,  gentlemen;  I  am 
afraid  of  exhausting  your  patience.  .  .  .  That 
interview  did  not  take  place.  I  never  went  back 
to  Ivan  Semyonitch.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  first 
few  days  of  my  separation  from  Varya  did  not 
pass  off  without  tears,  reproaches,  and  agitation ; 
I  myself  was  alarmed  at  the  speedy  withering  of 
my  love;  a  score  of  times  I  was  on  the  point  of 
going  to  her;  I  pictured  to  myself  in  vivid  col- 
ours her  surprise,  her  grief,  her  sense  of  in- 
jury, but— I  did  not  go  back  to  Ivan  Semyo- 
nitch's.  I  entreated  her  forgiveness  mentally;  I 
mentally  went  down  on  my  knees  before  her, 

84 


I 


ANDREI  KOLOSOFF 

assured  her  of  my  deep  remorse— and  once, 
when  I  encountered  in  the  street  a  young  girl 
who  bore  a  slight  resemblance  to  her,  I  set  off 
on  a  run  without  looking  behind  me,  and  only 
stopped  to  take  breath  in  a  confectioner's  shop, 
behind  five-fold  pufF-paste  patties.  The  word 
*'  to-morrow  "  was  invented  for  irresolute  people, 
and  for  children;  I,  being  a  child,  soothed  my- 
self with  that  magic  word.  "  I  will  go  to  her 
to-morrow  without  fail,"  I  said  to  myself,  and 
ate  and  slept  capitally  to-day.  I  began  to  think 
a  great  deal  more  about  Kolosoff  than  about 
Varya  ....  everywhere  and  incessantly  I  be- 
held before  me  his  frank,  bold,  unconcerned  face. 
I  began  to  go  to  him  again.  He  welcomed  me  as 
of  yore.  But  how  deeply  conscious  I  was  of  his 
superiority  over  myself!  How  ridiculous  did  all 
my  fancies  appear  to  me — my  mournful  pensive- 
ness  during  the  period  of  KolosofF's  connection 
with  Varya,  my  magnanimous  determination  to 
bring  them  together  again,  my  anticipations,  my 
raptures,  my  remorse!  ... 

I  had  enacted  a  wretched,  noisy,  and  pro- 
longed comedy,  while  he  had  lived  through  that 
period  so  simply,  so  finely.  .  .  .  You  will  say 
to  me:  "What  is  there  surprising  about  that? 
Your  Kolosoff  fell  in  love  with  a  young  girl,  then 
fell  out  of  love  with  her  and  abandoned  her.  .  .  . 
But  that  has  happened  to  everybody."  .  .  . 
Agreed;  but  which  one  of  us  has  known  how  to 

85 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

bid  farewell  in  time  to  his  past?  Who — tell  me 
— who  is  not  afraid  of  the  reproaches,  I  will  not 
say  of  the  reproaches  of  a  woman  ....  of  the 
reproaches  of  the  first  blockhead  who  comes  to 
hand?  Which  one  of  us  has  not  yielded  to  the 
desire  to  make  a  display  of  magnanimity,  or  self- 
conceitedly  to  play  with  another  devoted  heart? 
In  conclusion,  which  of  us  is  capable  of  resisting 
l^etty  self-love — the  petty  nice  feelings:  compas- 
sion and  remorse?  Oh,  gentlemen!  the  man  who 
parts  from  a  woman  formerly  beloved,  at  that 
i^reat  and  bitter  moment  when  he  becomes  con- 
scious that  his  heart  is  not  wholly,  not  completely 
permeated  with  her,  that  man,  believe  me,  un- 
derstands the  sacredness  of  love  better  and  more 
profoundlj^  than  those  pusillanimous  people  who, 
out  of  boredom,  out  of  weakness,  continue  to 
play  on  the  half -broken  strings  of  their  languid 
and  sensitive  hearts. 

At  the  beginning  of  my  story  I  told  you 
that  we  all  called  Andrei  Kolosoff  a  remarkable 
man.  And  if  a  clear,  simple  view  of  life,  if  the 
alisence  of  all  phrase-making  in  a  young  man 
f^an  be  termed  a  remarkable  thing,  then  Kolosoff 
deserved  the  name  which  had  been  bestowed  on 
him.  At  a  certain  age,  to  be  natural  is  equivalent 
!o  being  remarkable.  .  .  .  But  it  is  time  for  me 
'n  Pnish.  I  thank  you  for  your  attention.  .  .  . 
>;Vli,  but  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that,  three  months 
after  my  last  visit,  I  met  that  old  rascal  Ivan 

86 


ANDREI   KOLOSOFF 

Semyonitch.  As  a  matter  of  course,  I  endeav- 
oured to  slip  past  him  swiftly  and  unperceived, 
but,  nevertheless,  I  could  not  help  overhearing 
the  following  words,  uttered  with  vexation: 
"  Some  folks  are  so  broad-minded,  you  know!  " 

"  And  what  became  of  Varya?  " — asked  some 
one. 

"  I  don't  know,"— replied  the  story-teller. 

We  all  rose  and  went  our  various  ways. 


ST 


THE  BULLY 

(1846) 


THE    BULLY 


THE  ***  regiment  of  cuirassiers  was  sta- 
tioned, in  the  year  1829,  in  the  village  of 
Kirilovka,  of  the  K***  Government.  This  vil- 
lage, with  its  cottages  and  grain-ricks,  with  its 
green  hemp-patches  and  emaciated  willows,  ap- 
peared, from  a  distance,  to  be  an  island  in  the 
middle  of  a  boundless  sea  of  tilled,  black -loam 
fields.  In  the  middle  of  the  village  was  a  small 
pond,  eternally  covered  with  goose-down,  with 
filthy,  furrowed  banks;  a  hundred  paces  from 
the  pond,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  towered 
aloft  a  wooden  manor-house  of  some  gentlefolk, 
long  empty  and  sadly  sagging  over  on  one  side; 
in  the  garden  grew  ancient,  sterile  apple-trees, 
and  lofty  birches  studded  with  crows'  nests;  at 
the  end  of  the  principal  avenue,  in  a  tiny  house 
(formerly  the  gentry's  bath-house),  dwelt  a  de- 
crepit butler  who,  grunting  and  clearing  his 
throat,  from  ancient  habit  dragged  himself  every 
morning  through  the  garden  to  the  apartments 
of  the  gentry,  although  there  was  nothing  in 
them  to  guard,  except  a  dozen  white  arm-chairs 
upholstered  in  faded  stuff,  two  pot-bellied  chests 

91 


THE  BULLY 

of  drawers  on  crooked  legs  and  with  brass 
handles,  four  pictures  full  of  holes,  and  one  black 
negro  of  alabaster,  with  a  broken  nose.  The 
owner  of  this  house,  a  young  and  heedless  man, 
lived  sometimes  in  Petersburg,  sometimes  abroad 
— and  had  utterly  forgotten  his  hereditary  es- 
tate. It  had  come  into  his  possession  eight  years 
previously,  inherited  from  an  extremely  aged 
uncle,  once  known  to  all  the  countryside  for  his 
capital  fruit-liqueurs.  Empty,  dark-green  bottles 
were  still  scattered  about  in  the  storehouse,  along 
with  various  rubbish,  copy-books  in  variegated 
covers,  closely  written  all  over  in  miserly  fashion, 
antique  glass  chandeliers,  a  nobleman's  uniform 
of  the  epoch  of  Katherine  II.,  a  rusty  sword  with^ 
a  steel  hilt,  and  so  forth. 

In  one  of  the  wings  the  Colonel  himself  lodged 
— a  married  man,  tall  of  stature,  parsimonious  of 
words,  surly,  and  sleepy.  In  the  other  wing 
lived  the  adjutant, a  sensual  and  highly-perfumed 
man,  fond  of  flowers  and  butterflies.  The  so- 
ciety of  the  officers  of  the  ***  regiment  in  no 
way  differed  from  any  other  society.  Among 
them,  a  certain  Avdyei  Ivanovitch  LutchkofF, 
staff -captain,  bore  the  reputation  of  a  bully. 
Lutchkoff  was  small  of  stature,  and  not  good- 
looking;  he  had  a  small,  sallow,  lean  face,  thin 
black  hair,  ordinary  features,  and  small,  dark 
eyes.  He  had  early  been  left  an  orphan,  had 
grown  up  in  indigence  and  oppression.     For 

92 


THE  BULLY 

whole  weeks  together  he  behaved  quietly  .... 
and  all  of  a  sudden — it  seemed  as  though  some 
fiend  had  taken  possession  of  him — he  would  be- 
gin to  harass  everybody,  bother  everybody,  stare 
everybody  impudently  in  the  eye;  well,  he  fairly 
challenged  people  to  a  quarrel.  Moreover, 
Avdyei  did  not  shun  his  fellow-officers,  but  was 
on  friendly  terms  only  with  the  perfumed  ad- 
jutant; he  did  not  play  cards,  and  he  did  not 
drink  liquor. 

In  May,  1829,  not  long  before  the  beginning 
of  drill,  there  came  to  the  regiment  a  young 
cornet,  Feodor  Feodorovitch  Kister,  a  Russian 
nobleman  of  German  extraction,  very  fair-haired 
and  very  modest,  cultured  and  well-read.  Until 
the  age  of  twenty  he  had  lived  in  the  paternal 
home  under  the  wing  of  his  mamma,  his  grand- 
mamma, and  two  aunts ;  he  had  entered  the  mili- 
tary service  solely  at  the  desire  of  his  grand- 
mother, who  even  in  her  old  age  could  not  see 
a  white  cockade  without  emotion.  .  .  .  He  dis- 
charged his  duties  without  any  special  eagerness, 
but  with  zeal,  just  as  though  he  were  conscien- 
tiously performing  his  duty;  he  dressed,  not 
foppishly,  but  neatly,  and  according  to  the  regu- 
lations. On  the  very  first  day  of  his  arrival, 
Feodor  Feodorovitch  reported  himself  to  his  com- 
manding officers;  then  he  began  to  put  his  quar- 
ters in  order.  He  had  brought  with  him  some 
cheap  wall-paper,  rugs,   shelves,   and  so  forth; 

93 


THE  BULLY 

he  papered  all  his  walls  and  the  doors,  erected 
various  partitions,  ordered  the  yard  to  be  cleaned 
up,  rebuilt  the  stable  and  the  kitchen;  he  even  set 
apart  a  place  for  a  bath.  .  .  .  For  a  whole  week 
he  busied  himself;  but  it  was  a  delight  to  enter 
his  room  afterward.     In  front  of  the  windows 
stood  a  neat  table,  covered  with  various  knick- 
knacks  ;  in  one  corner  was  a  small  stand  for  books, 
with  the  busts  of  Goethe  and  Schiller ;  on  the  walls 
hung  maps,  four  Grevedon  heads  and  a  hunting- 
gun;  beside  the  table  ran  a  stately  row  of  pipes 
with  correct  mouth-pieces;  on  the  floor  of  the 
anteroom  lay  a  rug;  all  the  doors  fastened  with 
locks;  the  windows  were  hung  with  curtains. 
Everything    in    Feodor    Feodorovitch's    room 
exhaled  an  atmosphere  of  order  and  cleanliness. 
It  was  quite  different  with  his  comrades!     You 
could  hardly  make  your  way  to  one  of  them 
through  the  filthy  yard;  in  the  anteroom,  behind 
a  peeling  canvas  screen,  an  orderly  would  be 
snoring;  on  the  floor  lay  rotten  straw;  on  the 
cooking-stove,  boots   and  the  bottom  of  a  jar 
overflowing  with  shoe-blacking;  in  the  room  it- 
self a  warped  Vonihre  table,  scrawled  all  over 
with  chalk;  on  the  table,  glasses  half  filled  with 
cold,  dark -brown  tea;  along  the  wall,  a  broad, 
broken-down,    greasy    divan;    on    the    windows, 
pipe-ashes.  ...  In    the    clumsy    and    bloated 
arm-chair  sat  the  master  of  the  house  himself, 
in    a   grass-green   dressing-gown   with   crimson 

94 


THE  BULLY 

plush  facings,  and  an  embroidered  skull-cap  of 
Asiatic  origin,  while  by  the  master's  side  a  fat 
and  good-for-nothing  dog  in  a  stinking  brass 
collar  Avas  snoring.  .  .  All  the  doors  were  always 
wide  open.  .  .  . 

Feodor  Feodorovitch  pleased  his  new  com- 
rades. They  liked  him  for  his  good-nature,  his 
modesty,  his  hearty  cordiality,  and  his  innate 
inclination  to  "  everything  beautiful,"  —in  a 
word,  for  everything  which  in  any  other  officer 
they  would,  possibly,  have  considered  unbe- 
fitting. They  called  Kister  "  the  pretty  girl," 
and  treated  him  tenderly  and  gently.  Avdyei 
Ivanovitch  alone  looked  askance  upon  him.  One 
day,  after  drill,  Lutchkoif  stepped  up  to  him, 
with  slightly-compressed  lips  and  inflated  nos- 
trils. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Knaster." 
Kister  glanced  at  him  with  surprise. 
"  My  respects,  Mr.  Knaster,"  repeated  Lutch- 
koif. 

"  My  name  is  Kister,  my  dear  sir." 
"  You  don't  say  so,  Mr.  Knaster." 
Feodor  Feodorovitch  turned  his  back  on  him 
and  went  home.     LutchkofF  stared  after  him 
with  a  sneer. 

On  the  following  day,  immediately  after  drill, 
he  stepped  up  to  Kister  again. 

"  Well,  how  's  your  health,  Mr.  Kinderbal- 
zam? " 

95 


THE  BULLY 

Kister  flared  up,  and  stared  him  straight  in 
the  face.  Avdyei  Ivanovitch's  Httle,  bihous  eyes 
Hghted  up  with  malicious  joy. 

"  I  'm  speaking  to  you,  Mr.  Kinderbalzam ! " 
"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  Feodor  Feodorovitch, 
—"I  consider  your  jest  stupid  and  indecorous — 
do  you  hear?  stupid  and  indecorous." 

"When  shall  we  fight?"  retorted  Lutchkoff 
calmly. 

"  Whenever  you  like  ....  say  to-morrow." 
The  next  day  they  fought.  Lutchkoff  slightly 
wounded  Kister,  and,  to  the  intense  amazement 
of  the  seconds,  stepped  up  to  the  wounded  man, 
took  his  hand,  and  asked  his  pardon.  Kister  was 
confined  to  the  house  for  a  fortnight.  Avdyei 
Ivanovitch  dropped  in  several  times  to  see  the 
invalid,  and  after  Feodor  Feodorovitch's  recov- 
ery, struck  up  a  friendship  with  him.  Whether 
it  was  that  the  young  officer's  resolution  had 
pleased  him,  or  a  sentiment  akin  to  remorse  had 
awaked  in  his  soul,  it  would  be  difficult  to  deter- 
mine; ....  but  dating  from  the  duel  with  Kis- 
ter, Avdyei  Ivanovitch  was  hardly  ever  parted 
from  him,  and  first  called  him  Feodor,  then 
Fedya.  In  his  presence,  he  became  another  man, 
and— strange  to  say!— not  to  his  advantage.  It 
did  not  suit  his  style  to  be  gentle  and  soft.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  did  not  evoke  sympathy  in  any  one: 
such  was  his  fate!  He  belonged  to  the  category 
of  people  who  seem  to  have  been  endowed  with 

96 


THE  BULLY 

the  right  of  power  over  others;  but  nature  had 
denied  him  the  gifts  which  form  the  indispen- 
sable justification  for  such  a  right.  As  he  had 
received  no  education,  and  was  not  distinguished 
by  brains,  he  ought  not  to  have  divested  himself 
of  his  ordinary  character;  perhaps  harshness  in 
him  proceeded  precisely  from  his  consciousness  of 
the  defects  of  his  own  bringing-up,  from  a  desire 
to  conceal  himself  entirely  beneath  one  unvary- 
ing mask.  .  Avdyei  Ivanovitch  had  first  made 
himself  despise  people ;  then  he  had  observed  that 
it  was  not  a  difiScult  matter  to  frighten  them, 
and  had  begun  to  despise  them  in  reality. 
Lutchkoif  dehghted  in  putting  an  end,  by  his 
mere  appearance,  to  every  conversation  which 
was  not  utterly  trivial.  "  I  know  nothing  and 
never  learned  anything,  and  have  no  abilities,"  he 
thought  to  himself;  "therefore  don't  you  know 
anything  and  don't  you  display  your  abilities  be- 
fore me "     Kister  forced  LutchkofF  to 

emerge,  at  last,  from  his  assumed  role,  possibly 
because  until  his  acquaintance  with  him  the  bully 
had  not  encountered  a  single  really  "  ideal  "  man 
— that  is  to  say,  a  man  disinterestedly  and  good- 
naturedly  immersed  in  dreams,  and  consequently 
indulgent  and  not  conceited.  Avdyei  Ivan- 
ovitch would  come  to  Kister  of  a  morning, 
light  his  pipe,  and  quietly  seat  himself  in  an 
easy-chair.  LutchkofF  was  not  ashamed  of 
his  ignorance  in  Kister's  presence;  he  trusted 

97 


THE   BULLY 

— and  not  in  vain — to  the  latter 's  German  dis- 
cretion. 

"Well,  what  now?" — he  would  begin: — "what 
didst  thou  do  last  evening?  Read,  I  suppose, 
hey?  " 

"  Yes,  I  read.  .  .  ." 

"  And  what  didst  thou  read?  Come,  tell  me, 
my  dear  fellow,  tell  me."— Avdyei  Ivanovitch 
maintained  his  jeering  tone  to  the  end. 

"  I  read  Kleist's  '  Idyl,'  brother.  Akh,  how 
fine  it  is!  If  thou  wilt  permit  me,  I  will  translate 
a  few  lines  to  thee." — And  Kister  translated 
with  fervour,  while  Lutchkoff ,  wrinkling  up  his 
forehead,  and  compressing  his  lips,  listened  at- 
tentively. ..."  Yes,  yes,"— he  kept  repeating 
hastily,  with  a  disagreeable  smile, — "  't  is  fine 
.  .  .  very  fine.  .  .  I  remember  that  I  have  read 
that  ....  't  is  fine. 

"  Tell  me,  please," — he  added  with  a  drawl 
and,  as  it  were,  reluctantly: — "  what  is  thy  opin- 
ion of  Louis  the  Fourteenth?  " 

And  Kister  began  to  talk  about  Louis  XIV. 
And  Lutchkoff  Hstened,  did  not  understand 
much  of  it  at  all,  understood  some  of  it  wrongly 
....  and  at  last  decided  to  make  a  remark. 
....  The  idea  threw  him  into  a  perspiration: 
"Well,  and  what  if  I  do  talk  nonsense?"  he 
thought.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  it  fre- 
quently, but  Kister  never  answered  him  harshly; 
the  good-natured  young  fellow  was  heartily  de- 

98 


THE  BULLY 

lighted  that  a  desire  for  enlightenment  was  wak- 
ing up  in  the  man.  Alas!  Avdyei  Ivanovitch 
questioned  Kister  not  out  of  a  desire  for  enlight- 
enment, but  just  because  he  felt  like  it,  God  knows 
why!  Perhaps  he  wished  to  ascertain  by  experi- 
ment what  sort  of  a  head  he,  LutchkofF,  had, — 
a  stupid  one,  or  merely  an  unpolished  one. — "But 
I  actually  am  stupid,"  he  said  to  himself  more 
than  once,  with  a  bitter  grin,  and  suddenly 
straightened  himself  up  stiffly,  stared  arrogantly 
and  impudently  about  him,  and  smiled  mali- 
ciously if  he  noticed  some  comrade  lower  his 
glance  before  his.  "  Just  so,  brother,  my  learned, 
cultured  man  .  ..."  he  whispered  through  his 
teeth.  "  ^^''ouldst  not  thou  like  ....  thou 
knowest  what?  " 

The  officers  did  not  discuss  the  sudden  friend- 
ship between  Kister  and  LutchkofF  long:  they 
were  used  to  the  bully's  peculiarities.  "  The 
devil  has  entered  into  compact  with  the  infant!  " 
they  said.  .  .  Kister  everywhere  lauded  his  new 
friend  fervently,  and  they  did  not  contradict 
him,  because  they  feared  LutchkofF;  and  TiUtch- 
kofF  himself  never  mentioned  Kister's  name  be- 
fore others,  but  dropped  the  acquaintance  of  the 
perfumed  adjutant. 

II 

The  landed  proprietors  in  southern  Russia  are 
very  fond  of  giving  balls,  of  inviting  the  officers 

99 


THE  BULLY 

to  their  houses,  and  giving  them  their  daughters 
in  marriage.  Ten  versts  from  the  village  of  Kiri- 
lovo  dwelt  precisely  such  a  landed  proprietor,  a 
certain  Mr.  PerekatoiF,  the  possessor  of  four 
hundred  souls  and  a  fairly  spacious  house.  He 
had  a  daughter  of  seventeen,  Mashenka,  and  a 
wife,  Nenila  Makarievna.  Mr.  Perekatoff  had 
once  served  in  the  cavalry,  but  out  of  love  for  a 
country  life,  out  of  indolence,  he  had  resigned 
and  begun  to  live  his  own  life  quietly,  after  the 
manner  of  middle-class  squires.  Nenila  Maka- 
rievna was  descended  in  a  not  entirely  legiti- 
mate manner  from  a  distinguished  boyar  of 
Moscow. 

Her  protector  reared  his  Nenilushka  very  care- 
fully, as  the  saying  is,  in  his  own  house,  but  got 
her  off  his  hands  with  considerable  haste,  at  the 
first  demand,  as  uncertain  wares.  Nenila  Maka- 
rievna was  not  comely;  the  distinguished  gentle- 
man gave  her  a  dowry  of  ten  thousand  rubles,  all 
told;  she  jumped  at  Mr.  PerekatoiF.  Mr.  Pere- 
katoff thought  it  very  flattering  to  himself  to 
wed  a  cultured,  clever  young  lady  ....  well, 
and  to  sum  it  up,  one  who  also  was  related  to  a 
distinguished  dignitary.  That  dignitary  af- 
forded the  married  pair  his  protection  even  after 
the  wedding;  that  is  to  say,  he  accepted  from 
them  gifts  of  salted  woodcock  and  addressed 
Perekatoff  as,  "  thou,  my  good  fellow,"  and 
sometimes   simply   as   "  thou."     Nenila  Maka- 

100 


THE  BULLY 

rievna  completely  ruled  her  husband,  managed 
aifairs,  and  disposed  of  the  entire  estate, — very 
cleverly,  by  the  way;  in  any  case,  far  better  than 
Mr.  PerekatofF  himself  could  have  done.  She 
did  not  oppress  her  spouse  excessively,  but  kept 
him  under  her  thumb,  ordered  his  clothes  herself, 
and  dressed  him  in  English  fashion,  as  is  befitting 
a  country  squire;  by  her  command,  Mr.  Pere- 
katofF cultivated  on  his  chin  a  Spanish  goatee, 
to  conceal  a  large  wart  which  resembled  an  over- 
ripe raspberry;  Nenila  Makarievna,  on  her  side, 
was  wont  to  inform  her  guests  that  her  husband 
played  the  flute,  and  that  all  flute-players  let  the 
hair  grow  below  their  under  lip;  it  was  more 
convenient  to  hold  the  instrument.  Mr.  Pere- 
katoff,  from  early  morning,  went  about  in  a 
tall,  clean  neckerchief,  with  hair  well  brushed 
and  face  well  washed.  However,  he  was  ex- 
tremely well  satisfied  with  his  lot:  he  always  had 
very  savoury  dinners,  did  whatever  he  wished, 
and  slept  as  much  as  he  could.  Nenila  Maka- 
rievna set  up  in  her  house  "  a  foreign  order  of 
things,"  as  the  neighbours  said:  she  kept  few 
servants,  and  dressed  them  neatly.  She  was  tor- 
tured with  ambition;  she  wanted  to  become  at 
least  Marshaless  of  the  Nobility  for  the  county, 
but  the  nobles  of  the  ***  county,  although  they 
ate  their  fill  at  her  house,  nevertheless  elected  not 
her  husband,  but  at  one  time  retired  Premier- 
Major    Burcholtz,    at    another,    Second-JSIajor 

101 


THE   BULLY 

BurundiukoiF.    Mr.  PerekatoiF  seemed  to  them 
too  citified  a  rogue. 

Mr.  PerekatoiF's  daughter  Mashenka  resem- 
bled her  father  in  face.  Nenila  Makarievna  had 
taken  great  pains  with  her  education.  She  spoke 
French  well,  and  played  respectably  on  the  piano. 
She  was  of  medium  height,  quite  plump  and 
white;  her  rather  chubby  face  was  enlivened 
by  a  good-natured,  merry  smile;  her  chestnut 
hair,  which  was  not  too  thick,  her  small  brown 
eyes,  her  agreeable  voice — everything  about  her 
pleased  in  a  quiet  way,  and  that  was  all.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  absence  of  affectation,  of  preju- 
dices, her  erudition,  which  was  remarkable  in  a 
maid  of  the  steppes,  her  freedom  of  expression,, 
the  calm  simplicity  of  her  speech  and  glance 
evoked  involuntary  surprise.  She  had  developed 
in  freedom;  Nenila  Makarievna  had  not  put  any 
restraint  upon  her. 

One  morning,  about  twelve  o'clock,  the  whole 
PerekatofF  family  was  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  husband,  in  a  green  round  dress- 
coat,  a  tall,  checked  stock,  and  yellowish-grey 
trousers  with  gaiters,  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
window,  and  catching  flies  with  great  assiduity. 
The  daughter  was  sitting  at  her  embroidery- 
frame;  her  small,  plump  hand  in  a  black  mitt 
rose  and  fell  gracefully  over  the  canvas.  Nenila 
Makarievna  sat  on  the  couch  and  stared  silently 
at  the  floor. 

102 


THE  BULLY 

"  Did  you  send  invitations  to  the  ***  regiment, 

Sergyei  Sergyeevitch  ?  " — she  asked  her  husband. 

"For  this  evening?     Of  course,  ma  chere,  I 

sent  them."     (He  was  forbidden  to  call  her  ma- 

tushka.^)     "Of  course!" 

"  There  are  no  cavaliers  at  all," — went  on 
Nenila  Makarievna.— "  There  is  no  one  for  the 
young  ladies  to  dance  with." 

Her  husband  sighed,  as  though  the  absence  of 
cavaliers  afflicted  him. 

"  Mamma,"— said      Masha,      suddenly:— "  is 
Monsieur  Lutchkoff  invited? " 
"  What  LutchkoiF? " 

"  He  is  an  officer  also.    They  say  he  is  very  in- 
teresting." 
"  Really?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  is  not  good-looking,  and  not  young, 
but  every  one  is  afraid  of  him.  He  is  a  fright- 
ful duellist."  (Mamma  frowned  slightly.)  "  I 
should  very  much  like  to  see  him.  ..." 

Sergyei  Sergyeevitch  interrupted  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"  What  is  there  to  see,  my  darling  ?  Dost  thou 
think  that  he  looks  like  Lord  Byron?  "  (At  that 
epoch  people  had  only  just  begun  to  talk  about 
Lord  Byron  among  us.) — "Nonsense!  Why, 
my  darling,  I  also  bore  the  reputation  of  a  swash- 
buckler in  my  day." 

Mdtushka  (literally,  "dear  little  mother")  is  the  genuine  Russian 
form  of  address  for  any  woman  of  any  rank. —Translator. 

103 


THE   BULLY 

Masha  stared  in  amazement  at  her  parent, 
broke  out  laughing,  then  sprang  up  and  kissed 
him  on  the  cheek.  His  spouse  smiled  slightly 
....  but  Sergyei  Sergyeevitch  had  not  lied. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  that  gentleman  will 
come," — said  Nenila  Makarievna.  —  "  Perhaps  he 
also  will  favour  us  with  his  company." 

The  daughter  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  Look  out,  don't  fall  in  love  with  him," — 
remarked  Sergyei  Sergyeevitch. — "  I  know  that 
all  of  you  nowadays  are  such  ....  you  see 
....  so  given  to  raptures.  ..." 

"  No," — returned  Masha,  artlessly. 

Nenila  Makarievna  gazed  coldly  at  her  hus- 
band. Sergyei  Sergyeevitch  toyed  with  his 
watch-chain  in  some  confusion,  took  from  the 
table  his  broad-brimmed  English  hat,  and  set  off 
to  attend  to  the  estate.  His  dog  ran  timidly  and 
submissively  after  him.  Being  a  wise  animal,  it 
felt  that  its  master  had  not  much  power  in  the 
house,  and  behaved  itself  modestly  and  cau- 
tiously. 

Nenila  Makarievna  approached  her  daughter, 
gently  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  aiFectionately 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Thou  wilt  tell  me  when  thou  fallest  in  love?  " 
she  asked. 

Masha,  with  a  smile,  kissed  her  mother's  hand 
and  nodded  her  head  affirmatively  several  times. 

"  See  that  thou  dost," — remarked  Nenila  Ma- 

104 


THE  BULLY 

karievna,  patting  her  cheek,  and  following  her 
husband  out  of  the  room.  Masha  leaned  against 
the  back  of  her  easy-chair,  dropped  her  head  on 
her  breast,  intertwined  her  fingers,  and  stared 
for  a  long  time  out  of  the  window,  narrowing  her 
eyes.  ...  A  faint  flush  played  over  her  rosy 
cheeks;  with  a  sigh  she  straightened  herself  up, 
began  to  embroider,  dropped  her  needle,  propped 
her  face  on  her  hand,  and  lightly  biting  her 
finger-nails,  fell  into  thought  ....  then  glanced 
at  her  shoulder,  at  her  outstretched  hand,  rose, 
went  to  the  mirror,  laughed,  put  on  her  hat,  and 
went  off  into  the  park. 

On  that  same  evening,  about  eight  o'clock,  the 
guests  began  to  assemble.  INIadame  Perekatoff 
very  amiably  received  and  "  entertained "  the 
ladies,  Mashenka  the  young  girls;  Sergyei  Ser- 
gyeevitch  chatted  with  the  landed  proprietors 
about  farming,  and  kept  constantly  glancing  at 
his  wife.  The  young  dandies  began  to  present 
themselves ;  also  the  officers,  who  had  deliberately 
arrived  as  late  as  possible.  At  last  the  Colonel 
himself  entered,  escorted  by  his  Adjutant,  Kister, 
and  Lutchkofi*.  He  presented  them  to  the  hos- 
tess. LutchkofF  bowed  in  silence;  Kister  mut- 
tered the  customary  "  Delighted."  ....  Mr. 
Perekatoff  stepped  up  to  the  Colonel,  shook 
hands  cordially  with  him,  and  gazed  feelingly 
into  his  eyes.  The  Colonel  immediately  knit  his 
brows.      The    dancing    began.      Kister    invited 

105 


THE  BULLY 

Mashenka.    At  that  period  the  Ecossaise  was  still 
flourishing. 

"  Tell  me,  please,"  Masha  said  to  him  when, 
after  having  galloped  a  score  of  times  to  the 
end  of  the  hall,  they  had,  at  last,  become  the 
leading  pair :  "  Why  is  not  your  friend  danc- 
mg? 

"What  friend?" 

Masha  indicated  LutchkofF  with  the  tip  of  her 
fan. 

*'  He  never  dances,"— replied  Kister. 

"  Then  why  did  he  come?  " 

Kister  was  somewhat  disconcerted. — "  He 
wished  to  have  the  pleasure  .  .  .  ." 

Mashenka  interrupted  him. — "You  have  re- 
cently been  transferred  to  our  regiment,  I  be- 
lieve?" 

"  To  your  regiment?  "—remarked  Kister,  with 
a  smile: — "  Yes,  recently." 
You  are  not  bored  here?  " 
Good  gracious  ....  no  ...  I  have  found 
such  agreeable  society  here  ....  and  nature! . . . ." 
Kister  launched  out  into  a  description  of  nature. 
Masha  listened  to  him  without  raising  her  head. 
Avdyei  Ivanovitch  was  standing  in  the  corner, 
and  gazing  indifferently  at  the  dancers. 

"  How  old  is  Mr.  Lutchkoff?  "—she  suddenly 
inquired. 

"  Thirty  ....  thirty-five,  I  think,"— replied 
Kister. 

106 


THE  BULLY 

"  They  say  he  Is  a  dangerous  man  .  .  .  hot- 
tempered,"— hastily  added  Masha. 

"  He  is  rather  irascible  ....  but  he  is  a  very 
fine  man,  nevertheless." 

"  They  say  that  every  one  is  afraid  of  him." 

Kister  burst  out  laughing. 

"And  you?" 

"  He  and  I  are  friends." 

"  Really?  " 

"  Your  turn,  your  turn,  your  turn,"  was 
shouted  at  them  from  all  sides.  They  gave  a 
start,  and  began  once  more  to  gallop  sideways  the 
whole  length  of  the  hall. 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  thee," — said  Kister  to 
Lutchkoff,  approaching  him  after  the  dance: — 
"  the  daughter  of  the  house  has  kept  asking  me 
incessant  questions  about  thee." 

"  Is  it  possible?  "—returned  Lutchkoff,  scorn- 
fuUy. 

"  On  my  word  of  honour!  And  she  's  very 
pretty,  you  know;  just  look." 

"  But  which  one  of  them  is  she? " 

Kister  pointed  out  Masha  to  him. 

"Ah!  not  bad-looking!"— And  Lutchkoff 
yawned. 

"  WTiat  a  cold  man!  "—exclaimed  Kister,  and 
ran  off  to  invite  another  young  girl, 

Avdyei  Ivanovitch  was  greatly  pleased  with 
the  information  imparted  by  Kister,  although  he 
did  yawn,  and  even  yawn  pretty  loudly.     To 

107 


THE   BULLY 

arouse  curiosity  flattered  his  self-love  intensely; 
he  despised  love — in  words  ....  but  inwardly 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  difficult  and  trouble- 
some matter  to  make  himself  beloved.  .  .  .  Diffi- 
cult and  troublesome  to  make  himself  beloved, — 
but  very  easy  to  pretend  to  be  an  indifferent, 
reticent,  haughty  man.  Avdyei  Ivanovitch  was 
ill-favoured  and  not  young;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  enjoyed  a  terrible  reputation— and, 
consequently,  had  a  right  to  put  on  airs.  He  had 
become  used  to  bitter  and  taciturn  enjoyment  of 
surly  solitude;  this  was  not  the  first  time  that 
he  had  attracted  the  attention  of  women;  some 
had  even  tried  to  make  friends  with  him,  but  he 
had  repulsed  them  with  obdurate  stubbornness; 
he  knew  that  tenderness  was  not  becoming  to  his 
style  (in  hours  of  trysts  and  frankness  he  be- 
came first  awkward  and  vulgar,  and  then,  out  of 
vexation,  rough  to  the  point  of  insipidity,  of 
insult)  ;  he  called  to  mind  that  two  or  three 
women,  with  whom  he  had  once  consorted,  had 
cooled  toward  him  immediately  after  the  first 
moments  of  close  acquaintance,  and  had  hastily 
beaten  a  retreat  from  him  .  .  .  and  therefore 
he  had  made  up  his  mind,  at  last,  to  remain  a 
riddle,  and  to  scorn  that  which  fortune  had  de- 
nied to  him.  .  .  .  People,  as  a  whole,  know  no 
other  scorn,  apparently.  No  frank,  involuntary, 
that  is  to  say,  good  manifestation  of  passion  was 
becoming  to  Lutchkoff;  he  was  forced  contin- 
ually to  put  a  restraint  on  himself,  even  when  he 

108 


THE  BULLY 

was  angry.  Kister  alone  was  not  disgusted 
when  Lutchkoff  burst  into  a  guffaw  of  laughter; 
the  eyes  of  the  good  German  sparkled  with  the 
noble  joy  of  sympathy,  when  he  read  to  Avdyei 
Ivanovitch  his  favourite  pages  from  Schiller,  and 
the  bully  sat  in  front  of  him,  with  head  lowered 
like  a  wolf. 

Kister  danced  until  he  was  ready  to  drop. 
Lutchkoff  did  not  quit  his  corner,  knit  his  brows 
in  a  frown,  now  and  then  darted  a  stealthy 
glance  at  Masha — and,  on  encountering  her  eyes, 
immediately  imparted  to  his  own  an  indifferent 
expression.  Masha  danced  three  times  with  Kis- 
ter. The  enthusiastic  young  fellow  excited  her 
confidence.  She  chatted  very  merrily  with  him, 
but  at  heart  he  felt  awkward.  Lutchkoff  en- 
grossed her. 

The  mazurka  thundered  out.  The  officers  be- 
gan to  leap,  stamp  their  heels,  and  to  toss  their 
epaulets  with  their  shoulders;  the  civihans 
stamped  their  heels  also.  Still  Lutchkoff  did  not 
stir  from  his  place,  and  slowly  followed  the 
couples  with  his  eyes  as  they  flitted  past.  Some 
one  touched  his  sleeve  ...  he  glanced  round; 
his  neighbour  directed  his  attention  to  Masha. 
She  was  standing  in  front  of  him,  without  raising 
her  eyes,  and  offering  him  her  hand.^    Lutchkoff 

^  The  mazurka,  which  is  still  a  great  favourite  in  Russia,  greatly 
resembles  the  cotillon  in  everything  except  the  steps,  which  (as  the 
description  above  indicates)  are  vivacious.  Both  the  cotillon  and  the 
mazurka  are  danced — one  before,  the  other  after,  supper— at  Court 
balls  and  other  dances.— Translator. 

109 


THE  BULLY 

first  stared  at  her  in  surprise,  then  indifferently 
removed  his  broadsword,  threw  his  hat  on  the 
floor,  awkwardly  made  his  way  among  the  arm- 
chairs, took  Masha  by  the  hand— and  passed 
along  the  circle,  without  any  skipping  or  stamp- 
ing, as  though  unwillingly  performing  a  disa- 
greeable duty.  .  .  Masha's  heart  beat  violently. 

"Why  do  you  not  dance?"  she  asked  him  at  last. 

"I  don't  like  it,"-rephed  LutchkofF.- 
"  Where  is  your  place?  " 

"  Yonder,  sir." 

LutchkofF  led  Masha  to  her  chair,  calmly  made 
his  bow  to  her,  calmly  returned  to  his  corner 
....  but  the  bile  stirred  merrily  within  him. 

Kister  invited  Masha. 

*'  What  a  strange  man  your  friend  is! " 

"  And  he  interests  you  very  much "  .  .  .  . 
said  Feodor  Feodorovitch,  roguishly  screwing  up 
his  kind,  blue  eyes. 

"  Yes  ...  he  must  be  very  unhappy." 

"  He  unhappy?  Where  did  you  get  that 
idea?  "—And  Feodor  Feodorovitch  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  You  don't  know  .  .  .  you  don't  know.  .  ." 
— Masha  shook  her  head  gravely. 

"  But  why  should  n't  I  know?  " 

Again  Masha  shook  her  head  and  cast  a  glance 
at  Lutchkoff .  Avdyei  Ivanovitch  noticed  that 
glance,  shrugged  his  shoulders  imperceptibly, 
and  went  into  another  room. 

110 


THE  BULLY 


III 


Several  months  passed  after  that  evening. 
LutchkofF  had  not  been  to  the  Perekatoffs'  a  sin- 
gle time.  Kister,  on  the  other  hand,  had  called  on 
them  quite  often.  Nenila  Makarievna  liked  him, 
but  it  was  not  she  who  attracted  Feodor  Feodoro- 
vitch.  He  liked  Masha.  Being  an  inexperienced 
man,  and  one  who  had  not  exhausted  his  stock 
of  talk,  he  found  great  pleasure  in  exchanging 
sentiments  and  opinions,  and  good-naturedly  be- 
lieved in  the  possibility  of  a  calm  and  exalted 
friendship  between  a  young  man  and  a  young 
girl. 

One  day,  a  troika  of  well-fed  and  spirited 
horses  brought  him  with  celerity  to  the  house  of 
Mr.  PerekatofF.  It  was  a  summer  day,  stifling 
and  sultry.  There  was  not  a  cloud  anywhere. 
The  azure  of  the  sky  was  thickened  at  the  edges 
to  such  a  degree  that  the  eye  took  it  for  a  thun- 
dercloud. The  house  built  by  Mr.  Perekatoffs 
for  summer  residence,  with  the  customary  fore- 
thought of  the  steppes,  had  its  windows  turned 
directly  to  the  sun.  Nenila  Makarievna  had 
ordered  all  the  shutters  to  be  closed  early  in  the 
morning.  Kister  entered  the  cool,  shaded  draw- 
ing-room. The  light  lay  in  long  streaks  on  the 
floor,  in  short,  frequent  bands  on  the  walls.  The 
Perekatoff*  family  welcomed  Feodor  Feodoro- 

111 


THE  BULLY 

vitch  cordially.  After  dinner,  Nenila  Maka- 
rievna  took  herself  off  to  her  own  bedchamber 
for  a  nap;  Mr.  PerekatofF  ensconced  himself  on 
a  divan  in  the  drawing-room;  Masha  seated  her- 
self at  her  embroidery-frame  near  the  window; 
Kister  opposite  her.  Masha,  without  opening 
the  frame,  leaned  her  breast  against  it,  and 
propped  her  head  on  her  hands.  Kister  began 
to  narrate  something  to  her;  she  listened  to  him 
inattentively,  as  though  she  were  expecting  some- 
thing, occasionally  glanced  at  her  father,  and  sud- 
denly stretched  out  her  hand. 

"  Listen,  Feodor  Feodorovitch  ....  only, 
speak  as  softly  as  possible  ....  papa  has  fallen 
asleep." 

Mr.  Perekatoff  had,  in  fact,  according  to  his 
wont,  fallen  asleep  as  he  sat  on  the  divan,  with 
his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  mouth  slightly 
open. 

"What  do  you  wish?"— asked  Kister  with 
curiosity. 

'*  You  will  laugh  at  me." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  what  an  idea!  "  .  .  .  . 

Masha  dropped  her  head  so  that  only  the  upper 
part  of  her  face  remained  uncovered  by  her 
hands,  and  in  an  undertone,  not  without  embar- 
rassment, she  asked  Kister:  "why  he  never 
brought  Mr.  Lutchkoff  with  him  ? "  This  was 
not  the  first  time  Masha  had  mentioned  him  since 
the  ball.  .  .  .  Kister  maintained  silence.    Masha 

112 


THE  BULLY 

glanced  timorously  from  behind  her  interlaced 
embroidery-frame. 

*'  May  I  tell  you  my  opinion  frankly?  " — Kis- 
ter  asked  her. 

"Why  not?    Of  course." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  LutchkofF  has  made  a 
great  impression  on  you!  " 

"  No!  " — replied  Masha,  and  bent  forward,  as 
though  desirous  of  inspecting  the  pattern  more 
closely;  a  slender  golden  strip  of  light  lay  on 
her  hair: — "no  ....  but  .  .  .  ." 

"  But  what?  " — said  Kister  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  you  see," — said  Masha,  and  raised  her 
head  suddenly,  so  that  the  streak  of  light  fell 
straight  upon  her  eyes: — "  you  see  ....  he  ... ." 

"He  interests  you.  ..." 

"  Well  ....  yes  .  .  .  ."  said  Masha,  paus- 
ing between  her  words,  blushed,  turned  away  her 
head  a  little,  and  in  that  posture  continued  to 
speak: — "  there  is  something  about  him  that .... 
There  now,  you  are  laughing  at  me," — she  sud- 
denly added,  with  a  swift  glance  at  Feodor  Feo- 
dorovitch. 

Feodor  Feodorovitch  smiled  the  gentlest  of 
smiles. 

"  I  tell  you  everything  that  comes  into  my 
head," — pursued  Masha:—"  I  know  that  you  are 
my  .  .  .  ."  (she  meant  to  say  "  friend  ")  "good 
friend." 

Kister   bowed.      IVIasha   silently   and   timidly 

113 


THE  BULLY 

extended  her  hand  to  him;  Feodor  Feodorovitch 
respectfully  pressed  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

"  He  must  be  a  great  eccentric,"— remarked 
Masha,  and  again  set  her  elbows  on  her  em- 
broidery-frame. 

"  An  eccentric? " 

"Of  course ;  it  is  as  an  eccentric  that  he  inter- 
ests me!  "—added  Masha,  craftily. 

"  Lutchkoff  is  a  noble,  a  remarkable  man," 
—replied  Kister,  gravely.—"  The  men  of  our 
regiment  do  not  know  him,  do  not  value  him,  and 
see  in  him  only  his  external  side.  He  is,  of  course, 
stubborn,  strange,  impatient,  but  he  has  a  good 
heart." 

Masha  listened  eagerly  to  Feodor  Feodoro- 
vitch. 

"  I  will  bring  him  to  you.  I  will  tell  him  that 
there  is  no  need  to  fear  you,  that  it  is  ridiculous 
for  him  to  be  shy.  ...  I  will  tell  him  ....  Oh, 
yes!  I  know  what  I  shall  say.  .  .  .  That  is,  you 
must  not  think,  nevertheless,  that  I  .  .  .  ."  Kis- 
ter grew  confused ;  Masha  also  was  confused. . . . 
"  Yes,  and  in  short,  you  see,  he  only  .  .  .  inter- 
ests you  ....  so  ...  ." 

"  Well,  of  course,  as  many  others  interest 
me. 

Kister  cast  a  roguish  glance  at  her. 

"  Good,  good," — he  said  with  an  aspect  of  sat- 
isfaction:— "  I  will  bring  him  to  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Why,  no.  .  .  ." 

114i 


THE  BULLY 

*'  Good;  but  I  tell  you  that  everj'^thing  will  be 
all  right.  ...  I  '11  arrange  it.  .  .  ." 

"  What  a  man  you  are!  .  .  ."  remarked  Masha, 
with  a  smile,  shaking  her  finger  at  him.  Mr. 
PerekatofF  yawned  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"Why,  I  do  believe  I  've  been  asleep?"— he 
muttered  with  surprise.  This  question  and  sur- 
prise were  repeated  every  day.  Masha  and  Kis- 
ter  began  a  conversation  about  Schiller. 

But  Feodor  Feodorovitch  did  not  feel  quite 
at  his  ease;  envy  seemed  to  have  begun  to  stir 
within  him  ....  and  he  was  nobly  indignant 
Li  himself.  Nenila  Makarievna  entered  the 
drawing-room.  Tea  was  served.  Mr.  Pereka- 
tofF made  his  dog  jump  several  times  over  a 
cane,  and  then  announced  that  he  had  taught  the 
dog  himself,  while  the  dog  politely  wagged  his 
tail,  licked  his  chops,  and  blinked.  When,  at 
last,  the  sultry  heat  had  abated  and  the  cool  even- 
ing breeze  had  come  up,  the  whole  PerekatofF 
family  set  ofF  for  a  stroll  in  the  birch-grove. 
Feodor  Feodorovitch  kept  casting  incessant 
glances  at  Masha,  as  though  he  w^ere  desirous 
of  giving  her  to  understand  that  he  would 
execute  her  commission;  Masha  felt  vexed 
at  herself,  and  gay,  and  somewhat  daunted. 
Kister  suddenly,  without  rhyme  or  reason,  be- 
gan to  talk  in  a  decidedly  lofty  style  about 
love  in  general,  about  friendship  ....  but, 
on    observing    Nenila    JNIakarievna's    clear    and 

115 


THE   BULLY 

attentive   glance,   he   as   suddenly   changed   the 
conversation. 

The  sunset  glow  blazed  up  brilliantly  and 
splendidly.  In  front  of  the  birch-coppice 
stretched  a  broad,  level  meadow.  Masha  took  it 
into  her  head  to  play  at  tag.  Maids  and  lackeys 
made  their  appearance.  Mr.  Perekatoff  stood 
with  his  wife,  Kister  with  Masha.  The  maids 
ran  with  faint  obsequious  shrieks;  Mr.  Pereka- 
toff's  valet  made  so  bold  as  to  separate  Nenila 
Makarievna  from  her  husband ;  one  maid  respect- 
fully surrendered  to  the  master;  Feodor  Feodo- 
rovitch  did  not  part  from  Masha.  Every  time 
that  he  resumed  his  place  he  said  two  or  three 
words  to  her;  Masha,  all  flushed  with  running, 
listened  to  him  with  a  smile,  and  smoothed  her 
hair  with  her  hand.  After  supper,  Kister  went 
away. 

The  night  was  calm  and  starry.  Kister 
doffed  his  cap.  He  was  agitated;  he  had  a 
slight  lump  in  his  throat.  "  Yes,"  he  said  at 
last,  almost  aloud,  "  she  loves  him;  I  will  bring 
them  together;  I  will  justify  her  confidence." 
Although  nothing,  as  yet,  had  proved  any  open 
inclination  on  Masha's  part  for  LutchkofF,  al- 
though, according  to  her  own  words,  he  had 
merely  aroused  her  curiosity,  yet  Kister  had  al- 
ready succeeded  in  composing  for  himself  an 
entire  romance,  in  prescribing  his  duty  to  him- 
self.   He  made  up  his  mind  to  sacrifice  his  own 

lie 


THE   BULLY 

feelings— the  more  so  as,  "  with  the  exception 
of  sincere  affection,  I  really  feel  nothing,  so  far," 
he  thought.  Kister  really  was  capable  of  sacri- 
ficing himself  to  friendship,  to  an  acknowledged 
duty.  He  had  read  a  great  deal,  and  therefore 
imagined  that  he  was  experienced  and  even  pene- 
trating ;  he  did  not  doubt  the  truth  of  his  assump- 
tions; he  did  not  suspect  that  life  is  infinitely 
varied  and  never  repeats  itself.  Gradually,  Feo- 
dor  Feodorovitch  attained  to  a  state  of  rapture. 
He  began,  with  emotion,  to  think  of  his  mission. 
To  be  the  mediator  between  a  loving,  timid  young 
girl  and  a  man  who  was,  possibly,  obdurate  only 
because  it  had  never  happened  to  him  a  single 
time  in  life  to  love  and  to  be  loved;  to  bring 
them  together,  to  interpret  their  own  feel- 
ings to  them,  and  then  to  withdraw,  without  al- 
lowing any  one  to  perceive  the  magnitude  of  his 
sacrifice, — what  a  fine  act!  Despite  the  coolness 
of  the  night,  the  face  of  the  kind  dreamer  was 
burning  hot.  ... 

Early  in  the  morning,  on  the  following  day, 
he  betook  himself  to  LutchkofF. 

Avdyei  Ivanovitch,  according  to  his  wont,  was 
lying  on  his  divan  and  smoking  a  pipe.  Kister 
exchanged  greetings  with  him. 

"  I  was  at  the  PerekatofFs'  yesterday,"— he 
said  with  some  solemnity. 

"  Ah!  "—returned  Lutchkoff,  indifferently, 
with  a  yawn. 

117 


THE  BULLY 

"Yes.    They  are  very  fine  people." 
"  Really? " 

"  I  talked  with  them  about  thee." 
"  Greatly  honoured,  I  'm  sure;  with  whom, 
pray?" 

"  With  the  old  people  ....  and  with  the 
daughter." 

"Ah!  with  that  ....  fatty?" 
"  She  's  a  very  fine  girl,  Lutchkoff ." 
"  Well,  yes,  they  're  all  very  fine,  those  girls." 
"  No,  Lutchkoff,  thou  dost  not  know  her.     I 
never  before  have  met  so  clever,  kind,  and  sensi- 
tive a  young  girl." 

Lutchkoff  began  to  hum  through  his  nose: 
"  In  the  Hamburg  Gazette— hast  not  thou  read 
it?— how  the  year  before  last— Munich  won  the 
victory.  . 

"  Yes,  but  I  tell  thee  . 

"  Thou  'rt  in  love  with  her,  Fedya," — re- 
marked Lutchkoff,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Not  at  all.    I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 
"  Fedva,  thou  'rt  in  love  with  her!  " 
"  What  nonsense !    Can't  a  fellow  .  .  .  ." 
"  Thou  'rt  in  love  with  her,  thou  friend  of  my 
heart,  thou  black-beetle  that  lodgest  behind  the 
oven," — drawled  Avdyei  Ivanovitch  in  a  sing- 
song tone. 

"  Ekh,  Avdyei,  shame  on  thee!  "—said  Kister, 
with  vexation. 

^  A  fragment  from  an  old  song.  Munich  was  a  prominent  general 
and  statesman  in  the  reign  of  Anna  loannovna,  and  during  the 
regency  of  Anna  Leopoldovna.  —  Tuaxslator. 

118 


"  1 

» 

5? 


THE  BULLY 

With  any  other  man,  LutchkofF  would  have 
sung  on  worse  than  ever ;  he  did  not  tease  Kister. 
— "  Well,  well,  sprechen  sie  deutsch,  Ivan  An- 
dreitch,"— he  growled  in  an  undertone: — "  don't 
get  angry." 

"  Listen,  Avdyei,"— said  Kister,  with  fervour, 
sitting  down  by  his  side.—"  Thou  knowest  that  I 
love  thee."  (LutchkofF  made  a  grimace.)  "But 
one  thing  in  thee  does  not  please  me,  I  admit 
.  .  .  namely,  that  thou  wilt  have  nothing  to  do 
with  anybody,  always  sittest  at  home,  and 
avoidest  all  intercourse  with  nice  people.  For 
there  are  nice  people!  Well,  let  us  assume  that 
thou  hast  been  deceived  in  life,  hast  grown  hard, 
or  something  of  that  sort;  thou  needst  not  fling 
thyself  on  everybody's  neck;  but  why  shouldst 
thou  repudiate  everybody?  Why,  if  thou  goest 
on  like  this,  thou  mayest  drive  me  away  also,  one 
of  these  days." 

LutchkoiF  continued  to  smoke  with  cool  indif- 
ference. 

"  That  's  why  nobody  knows  you  .  .  .  except 
me;  any  one  else  would  think  God  knows  what 
about  thee.  .  .  .  Avdyei!"  added  Kister,  after 
a  brief  silence:—"  dost  thou  not  believe  in  virtue, 
Avdyei?" 

"  How  can  I  help  believing?  ....  Yes,  I  be- 
lieve in  it,  .  .  ."  said  LutchkofF. 

Kister  pressed  his  hand  with  emotion. 

"  I  want,"— he  went  on  in  a  much  moved  voice, 
— "  to  reconcile  thee  with  life.     I  'm  going  to 

119 


THE  BULLY 

make  thee  grow  merry,  blossom  out  ....  pre- 
cisely that — blossom  out.  How  glad  I  shall  be 
then!  Only,  thou  must  allow  me  to  dispose  of 
thee,  of  thy  time,  occasionally.  What  day  is  to- 
day? Monday.  .  .  .  To-morrow  is  Tuesday. 
On  Wednesday,  yes,  on  Wednesday,  we  will  go 
to  the  Perekatoffs'  together.  They  will  be  so 
delighted  to  see  thee  .  .  .  and  we  shall  pass  the 
time  so  merrily  .  .  there.  .  .  .  But  now  let  me 
smoke  a  pipe." 

Avdyei  Ivanovitch  lay  motionless  on  the  divan 
and  stared  at  the  ceiling.  Kister  lighted  his  pipe, 
walked  to  the  window,  and  began  to  drum  on  the 
panes  with  his  fingers. 

"  So  they  talked  about  me?"— asked  Avdyei, 
suddenly. 

"  Yes,  they  did,"  returned  Kister,  significantly. 

"What  did  they  say?" 

"  Well,  they  talked.  They  are  very  anxious 
to  make  thine  acquaintance." 

"  Who  in  particular?  " 

"Just  see  how  curious  he  is!" 

Avdyei  called  his  servant,  and  gave  orders  to 
have  his  horse  saddled. 

"Whither  away?" 

"  To  the  riding-school." 

"  Well,  good-bye.  So  we  shall  go  to  the  Pere- 
katoffs', shall  we  not? " 

.  "  Yes,  if  thou  wishest,"— said  Lutchkoff,  indo- 
lently, stretching  himself. 

120 


THE  BULLY 

"That  's  a  fine  fellow!  "—exclaimed  Kister, 
and  went  out  into  the  street,  became  pensive,  and 
heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

IV 

Masha  was  walking  to  the  door  of  the  drawing- 
room  when  the  arrival  of  Messrs.  Kister  and 
LutchkoiF  was  announced.  She  immediately 
returned  to  her  chamber,  and  made  a  movement 
to  approach  the  mirror.  .  .  .  Her  heart  beat 
violently.  A  maid  came  to  summon  her  to  the 
drawing-room.  Masha  drank  a  little  water, 
paused  a  couple  of  times  on  the  stairs,  and  at 
last  descended.  Mr.  Perekatoff  was  not  at 
home.  Nenila  Makarievna  was  sitting  on  the 
divan;  Lutchkoff  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair, 
in  his  uniform,  with  his  hat  on  his  knees;  Kister 
sat  by  his  side.  They  both  rose  on  Masha's  en- 
trance,—  Kister  with  his  customary  friendly 
smile,  Lutchkoff  with  a  stiff  and  solemn  mien. 
She  bowed  to  them  both  in  confusion,  and  went 
to  her  mother.  The  first  ten  minutes  passed  off 
well.  Masha  drew  breath  once  more,  and  began 
gradually  to  observe  Lutchkoff.  He  replied  to 
the  hostess's  questions  briefly,  but  uneasily;  he 
was  intimidated,  like  all  self-conscious  people. 
Nenila  Makarievna  proposed  to  the  guests  that 
they  should  take  a  stroll  in  the  park,  but  she  her- 
self went  no  further  than  the  balcony.     She  did 

121 


THE  BULLY 

not  regard  it  as  indispensable  to  keep  an  eye  con- 
stantly on  her  daughter,  and  hobble  about  after 
her  everywhere,  with  a  plethoric  reticule  in  her 
hands,  after  the  example  of  many  mothers  of  the 
steppes.  The  stroll  lasted  quite  a  long  time. 
Masha  talked  chiefly  with  Kister,  but  did  not 
venture  to  look  either  at  him  or  at  Lutchkoff . 
Avdyei  Ivanovitch  did  not  converse  with  her; 
emotion  was  discernible  in  Kister 's  voice.  For 
some  reason  he  laughed  and  chattered  a  great 
deal.  .  .  .  They  approached  the  river.  A  fathom 
distant  from  the  shore  grew  a  water-lily  which 
seemed  to  be  reposing  on  the  smooth  surface  of 
the  water,  carpeted  with  its  broad,  round  leaves. 

*'  What  a  beautiful  flower!  "  remarked  Masha. 

She  had  not  finished  uttering  these  words 
before  Lutchkoff  drew  out  his  broadsword, 
grasped  the  slender  branches  of  a  willow  with  one 
hand  and,  bending  over  the  water  with  his  whole 
body,  cut  off  the  head  of  the  flower.  "  The 
water  is  deep  here,  take  care!  "  cried  Masha  in 
alarm.  With  the  tip  of  his  sword,  Lutchkoff 
drew  the  flower  ashore,  at  her  very  feet.  She 
bent  down,  picked  it  up,  and  with  tender,  joyous 
surprise  looked  at  Avdyei. 

"  Bravo!  "—cried  Kister. 

"  And  I  don't  know  how  to  swim,  .  .  ."  said 
Lutchkoff,  abruptly. 

,  Masha  did  not  like  this  remark.  "  Why  did  he 
say  that?  "  she  thought. 

122 


THE  BULLY 

Lutchkoff  and  Kister  remained  at  Mr.  Pereka- 
toiF's  until  the  evening.  Something  new  and  un- 
precedented took  place  in  Masha's  soul;  thought- 
ful perplexity  was  more  than  once  depicted  on 
her  countenance.  Somehow,  she  moved  more 
slowly,  did  not  flush  at  her  mother's  glances— 
on  the  contrary,  she  seemed  to  seek  them,  seemed 
herself  to  be  interrogating  her.  During  the  entire 
course  of  the  evening,  Lutchkoff  showed  her  a 
certain  clumsy  attention ;  but  this  very  clumsiness 
pleased  her  innocent  vanity.  But  when  both  of 
them  had  departed,  with  a  promise  to  come  again 
in  a  few  days,  she  went  softly  to  her  chamber  and 
gazed  about  her  for  a  long  time,  as  though  in 
wonder.  Nenila  Makarievna  came  to  her,  kissed 
and  embraced  her,  as  was  her  habit.  Masha 
opened  her  lips,  tried  to  begin  a  conversation  with 
her  mother, — and  did  not  utter  a  word.  She 
wanted  to  make  a  confession,  but  did  not  know 
about  what.  On  the  night-stand,  the  flower 
plucked  by  Lutchkofl"  lay  on  the  water  in  a  clean 
glass.  After  she  was  in  bed,  Masha  half  rose, 
propped  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  her  virgin 
lips  softly  touched  the  fresh  white  petals.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  how  now? "  Kister  asked  his  comrade 
on  the  following  day: — "do  you  like  the  Pere- 
katofl's?    Was  I  right?    Hey?    TeUmel" 

Lutchkofl*  made  no  answer. 

'*  Come,  tell  me,  tell  me." 

"  Why,  really,  I  don't  know." 

123 


THE  BULLY 

"  Come,  stop  that!  " 

"  That  ....  what  the  deuce  is  her  name? 
.  .  .  .  that  Mashenka— is  all  right;  she  is  n't  so 

ugly." 

"  Well,  there,  you  see.  .  .  ."  said  Kister— and 
stopped  short. 

Five  days  later  Lutchkoff  himself  suggested 
to  Kister  that  they  should  go  to  the  PerekatofFs'. 
He  would  not  have  gone  to  them  alone;  in  the 
absence  of  Feodor  Feodorovitch  he  would  have 
been  obliged  to  carry  on  the  conversation,  and 
this  he  was  unable  to  do,  and  avoided  as  much 
as  possible. 

Masha  was  much  more  at  her  ease  when  the 
friends  arrived  for  the  second  time.  She  now 
secretly  rejoiced  that  she  had  not  worried  her 
mother  by  an  unasked  confession.  Before  din- 
ner, Avdyei  offered  to  mount  a  young,  un- 
broken horse,  and  in  spite  of  the  animal's  mad 
leaps,  he  tamed  it  completely.  In  the  evening 
he  began  to  unbend,  set  to  joking  and  laughing 
— and  although  he  speedily  bethought  himself, 
he  had  alreadj^  contrived  to  produce  a  momen- 
tary disagreeable  impression  on  Masha.  She 
herself  did  not  j^et  know  precisely  what  feehng 
Lutchkoff  had  excited  in  her,  but  everything 
about  him  which  did  not  please  her  she  attributed 
to  the  influence  of  unhappiness,  of  solitude. 


124 


THE  BULLY 


V 


The  friends  began  to  make  frequent  visits  to  the 
PerekatofFs'.  Kister's  position  became  more  and 
more  burdensome.  He  did  not  repent  ....  no, 
but  he  wished,  at  least,  to  curtail  the  period  of  his 
trial.  His  attachment  to  Masha  augmented  with 
every  day;  she  herself  was  well  disposed  toward 
him ;  but  to  be  eternally  nothing  more  than  a  me- 
diator, a  confidant,  even  a  friend— is  such  a 
heavy,  ungrateful  role !  Coldly  enthusiastic  peo- 
ple prate  a  vast  deal  about  the  sanctity  of  suf- 
fering, about  the  bliss  of  suffering  .  .  .  but  suf- 
ferings afforded  no  bliss  to  Kister's  warm,  simple 
heart.  At  last,  one  day,  when  Lutchkoff  entered 
his  room,  already  fully  dressed,  and  the  calash 
had  driven  up  to  the  porch,  Feodor  Feodorovitch, 
to  the  amazement  of  his  friend,  declared  flatly 
that  he  meant  to  remain  at  home.  Lutchkoff 
entreated,  grew  vexed,  waxed  wrathful.  .  .  . 
Kister  excused  himself  on  the  pretext  of  a  head- 
ache.   Lutchkoff  set  off  alone. 

The  bully  had  changed  in  many  ways  of  late. 
He  left  his  comrades  in  peace,  he  did  not  harry  the 
novices,  and  although  he  had  not  blossomed  forth 
in  soul,  as  Kister  had  predicted  that  he  would, 
still  he  really  had  quieted  down.  He  could  not 
have  been  called  a  disillusioned  man  previously,— 
he  had  seen  almost  nothing,  and  experienced  al- 

125 


THE  BULLY 

most  nothing,— and  therefore  it  is  not  remarkable 
that  Masha  should  have  occupied  his  thoughts. 
However,  his  heart  had  not  grown  softer ;  the  bile 
in   it  had  merely   subsided.     Masha's   feelings 
toward  him  were  of  a  strange  nature.    She  hardly 
ever  looked  him  straight  in  the  face;  she  did  not 
know  how  to  chat  with  him.  .  .  .  But  when  they 
chanced  to  be  left  alone,  Masha  became  fright- 
fully embarrassed.     She  took  him  for  a  remark- 
able man,  and  was  intimidated  in  his  presence; 
she  grew  agitated,  she  imagined  that  she  did  not 
understand  him,  did  not  deserve  his  confidence; 
she  thought  of  him  in  a  cheerless,  heavy  way— but 
incessantly.     Kister's  presence,  on  the  contrary, 
was  a  relief  to  her,  and  disposed  her  to  mirth, 
although  it  did  not  gladden  or  agitate  her;  with 
him  she  could  chat  for  hours;  leaning  on  his 
arm  as  on  the  arm  of  a  brother,  she  gazed  into  his 
eyes  in  a  friendly  way;  she  laughed  when  he 
laughed— and  rarely  called  him  to  mind.     In 
Lutchkoff  there  was  something  mysterious  for 
the  young  girl ;  she  felt  that  his  soul  was  dark 
''  as  the  forest,"  and  strove  to  penetrate  into  that 
mysterious  gloom.  .  .  .  Exactly  in  this  way  do 
children  gaze  into  a  deep  well,  until  at  last  they 
espy,  at  the  very  bottom,  the  motionless,  black 
water. 

When  Lutchkoff  entered  the  drawing-room 
alone,  Masha  was  startled  at  first  ....  but 
afterward  she  rejoiced.     It  had  already  seemed 

126 


THE  BULLY 

to  her,  more  than  once,  that  between  Lutchkoff 
and  herself  there  existed  a  certain  misapprehen- 
sion, that  hitherto  he  had  had  no  opportunity  to 
explain  himself.  Lutchkoff  communicated  to 
her  the  cause  of  Kister's  absence;  the  old  people 
expressed  their  sympathy;  but  Masha  looked  in- 
credulously at  Avdyei,  and  suffered  poignantly 
with  anticipation.  After  dinner  they  were  left 
alone;  Masha  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and 
seated  herself  at  the  piano;  her  fingers  flew 
hastily  and  tremulously  over  the  keys;  she  kept 
pausing  constantly  and  waiting  for  the  first  word. 
Lutchkoff  did  not  understand  and  did  not  like 
music.  Masha  began  to  talk  to  him  about  Ros- 
sini (Rossini  had  just  come  into  fashion),  about 
Mozart.  .  .  .  Avdyei  Ivanovitch  replied:  "Yes, 
ma'am ;  no,  ma'am ;  certainly,  ma'am ;  very  beauti- 
ful,"—and  that  was  all.  Masha  began  to  play 
some  brilliant  variations  on  a  theme  by  Rossini. 
Lutchkoff  hstened  and  hstened,  ....  and  when 
at  last  she  turned  toward  him,  his  face  expressed 
such  unfeigned  boredom  that  JNIasha  instantly 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  shut  the  piano  with  a 
bang.  She  walked  to  the  window  and  stared 
for  a  long  time  into  the  park;  Lutchkoff  did  not 
stir  from  his  seat,  and  preserved  silence.  Im- 
patience began  to  usurp  the  place  of  timidity  in 
Masha's  soul.  "What  is  it?"  she  thought: 
"  willst  thou  not,  or  canst  thou  not?"  It  was 
Lutchkoff 's  turn  to  feel  timid.     Again  he  felt 

127 


THE  BULLY 

his  usual  torturing  lack  of  confidence :  he  was  al- 
ready waxing  wroth!  .... 

"  'T  was  the  devil  prompted  me  to  get  myself 
entangled  with  a  wretched  little  girl,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.  .  .  .  And  yet,  how  easy  it  was 
at  that  moment  to  touch  Masha's  heart!  No 
matter  what  so  remarkable,  although  so  strange 
a  man  as  she  imagined  Lutchkoif  to  be,  had 
said,  she  would  have  understood  all,  excused  all, 
believed  all.  .  .  .  But  that  heavy,  stupid  silence! 
Tears  of  vexation  welled  up  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  he  does  not  wish  to  explain  himself,  if  I 
really  am  not  worthy  of  his  confidence,  why 
does  he  come  to  our  house?  Or  perhaps  I  do 
not  know  how  to  make  him  speak  out.  .  .  ." 
And  she  turned  swiftly  round,  and  looked  at  him 
in  such  an  inquiring,  such  a  persistent  way  that 
he  could  not  fail  to  understand  her  glance,  could 
no  longer  hold  his  peace.  .  .  . 

"  Marya  Sergyeevna!  "— he  ejaculated,  stam- 
mering,— "  I  ....  I  have  ....  I  must  say 
something  to  you." 

"  Speak,"— returned  Masha,  swiftly. 

Lutchkoif  gazed  about  him  irresolutely. 

"  I  cannot  now.  .  .  ." 

"Why?" 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you  .... 
in  private.  ..." 

"  But  we  are  alone  now." 

"  Yes  .  .  .  but  ....  here  in  the  house  ....*' 

128 


THE  BULLY 

Masha  was  disconcerted.  .  .  "  If  I  refuse 
him," — she  thought, — "  everything  is  at  an  end." 
....  Curiosity  ruined  Eve 

"  I  agree," — she  said  at  last. 

"When?    Where?" 

Masha  breathed  hastily  and  unevenly. 

"  To-morrow  ....  evening.  Do  you  know 
the  coppice  above  the  Long  Meadow?  .  .  ." 

"Behind  the  mill?" 

Masha  nodded  her  head. 

"At  what  o'clock?" 

"Wait " 

She  could  not  utter  anything  more;  her  voice 
broke  .  .  .  she  turned  pale,  and  hastily  left  the 
room. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Mr.  Perekatoff, 
with  the  amiability  characteristic  of  him,  escorted 
Lutchkoff  to  the  anteroom,  pressed  his  hand  with 
emotion,  and  begged  him  "  not  to  forget  them  "; 
then,  having  seen  his  guest  off,  he  remarked  with 
dignity  to  his  man  that  it  would  n't  be  a  bad  thing 
for  him  to  cut  his  hair — and,  without  awaiting  an 
answer,  he  returned  to  his  chamber  with  an  anx- 
ious air,  and  with  the  same  anxious  air  seated 
himself  on  the  divan,  and  immediately  lapsed 
into  innocent  slumber. 

"  Thou  art  somewhat  pale  to-day," — said 
Nenila  Makarievna  to  her  daughter  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  same  day. — "  Art  thou  well?  " 

"  I  am  well,  mamma." 

129 


THE  BULLY 


Nenila  Makarievna  adjusted  her  kerchief  on 
her  neck. 

"  Thou  art  very  pale;  look  at  me,"— she  went 
on  with  that  maternal  anxiety,  in  which,  never- 
theless, parental  authority  is  audible:— "  there, 
now,  and  thine  eyes  are  not  merry.  Thou  art  ill, 
Masha." 

"  I  have  a  slight  headache,"— said  Masha,  in 
order  to  make  her  escape  in  some  way. 

"  There,  now,  I  knew  it."— Nenila  Makarievna 
laid  her  hand  on  Masha's  brow.—"  But  thou  hast 
no  fever." 

Masha  stooped  down  and  picked  up  a  thread 
from  the  floor. 

Nenila  Makarievna's  arms  were  laid  gently 
round  Masha's  slender  waist.—"  It  seems  as 
though  thou  art  wishing  to  say  something  to 
me,"— she  said  affectionately,  without  unclasp- 
ing her  hands. 

Masha  shuddered  inwardly. 

"I?    No,  mamma." 

Masha's  momentary  confusion  did  not  escape 
the  maternal  notice. 

"  Really,  thou  art  ....  Just  reflect." 

But  Masha  had  succeeded  in  regaining  her 
composure,  and,  instead  of  a  reply,  she  kissed  her 
mother's  hand  with  a  laugh. 

"  And  thou  dost  not  mean  to  say  that  thou  hast 
nothing  to  say  to  me?  " 

"  Why,  really,  I  have  nothing." 

"  I  believe  thee,"— replied  Nenila  Makarievna, 

130 


THE   BULLY 

after  a  brief  silence. — "  I  know  that  thou  hast  no 
secrets  from  me.  ...  Is  n't  that  true? " 

"  Of  course,  mamma." 

Yet  Masha  could  not  help  blushing  faintly. 

"  And  thou  doest  well.  It  would  be  sinful  for 
thee  to  have  secrets  from  me.  .  .  .  For  thou 
knowest  how  I  lo^^e  thee,  Masha." 

"  Oh,  yes,  mamma!  " 

And  Masha  nestled  up  to  her. 

"  Come,  that  will  do;  enough  of  that." — 
(Nenila  Makarievna  paced  the  room.)  — 
*'  But,  come,  tell  me,"— she  continued  in  the 
voice  of  a  person  who  is  conscious  that  his 
question  has  no  special  significance: — "what 
wert  thou  talking  about  to-day  with  Avdyei 
Ivanovitch?  " 

"With  Avdyei  Ivanovitch?  "—repeated  Ma- 
sha, calmly. — "  Why,  about  everything.  .  .  ." 

"  And  dost  thou  Hke  him?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  And  dost  thou  remember  how  anxious  thou 
wert  to  make  his  acquaintance,  how  agitated  thou 
wert? " 

Masha  turned  away,  and  began  to  laugh. 

"What  a  strange  person  he  is!" — remarked 
Nenila  Makarievna  good-naturedly. 

Masha  wanted  to  take  up  the  cudgels  for 
LutchkoiF,  but  bit  her  little  tongue. 

"  Yes,  of  course," — she  said  with  considerable 
carelessness: — "he  is  eccentric,  but  he  is  a  fine 
man,  nevertheless! " 

131 


THE  BULLY 

"Oh,  yes!  ...  .  Why  did  n't  Feodor  Feo- 
dorovitch  come? " 

"  Evidently  he  was  not  well.  Akh,  yes!  by  the 
way:  Feodor  Feodorovitch  wants  to  make  me  a 
present  of  a  Httle  dog.  .  .  .  Dost  thou  permit 
mef 

"What?    To  accept  his  gift?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Certainly." 

"Well,  thanks,"— said  Masha.  —  "  Thanks!  " 

Nenila  Makarievna  walked  to  the  door,  and 
suddenly  turned  back. 

"  And  dost  thou  remember  thy  promise, 
Masha?  " 

"  What  promise? " 

"  Thou  wert  to  tell  me  when  thou  shouldst  fall 
in  love." 

"  I  remember." 

"Well,  what  then?  ...  Is  n't  it  time  yet?" 
(Masha  uttered  a  ringing  laugh.)  "  Come,  look 
me  in  the  eye." 

Masha  looked  brightly  and  boldly  at  her 
mother. 

"  It  cannot  be!  "  thought  Nenila  Makarievna, 
and  felt  reassured.  —  "  Why  should  she  deceive 
me?  .  .  .  And  what  made  me  think  so?  ...  . 
She  is  still  a  perfect  child.  .  .  ." 

She  went  away.  ... 

"  But,  surely,  this  is  a  sin,"  thought  Masha. 


132 


THE  BULLY 


VI 


KiSTER  had  already  gone  to  bed  when  Lutchkoff 
entered  his  room.  The  bully's  face  never  ex- 
pressed a  single  feeling;  so  it  was  now  also: — 
feigned  indifference,  coarse  joy,  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  superiority ...  a  multitude  of  varied 
feelings  played  over  his  features. 

"  Well,  what  now?  Well,  what  now?  "— Kister 
hastily  asked  him. 

"  Well,  what  indeed!  I  have  been  there.  They 
sent  their  greetings  to  thee." 

"  And  are  they  all  well?  " 

"What  should  ail  them?" 

"  Did  they  inquire  why  I  did  not  come? " 

"  Yes,  they  inquired,  I  believe." 

Lutchkoff  stared  at  the  ceiling  and  began  to 
sing  in  a  falsetto  voice.  Kister  dropped  his  eyes, 
and  became  pensive. 

"  And  see  here  now," — enunciated  Lutchkoff, 
in  a  hoarse,  sharp  voice: — "  here,  thou  art  a  clever 
fellow,  a  learned  fellow,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  thou  also  talkest  nonsense  on  occasion, 
begging  pardon  for  the  expression." 

"What  then?" 

"  Why,  this.  On  the  subject  of  women,  for 
example.  How  thou  dost  laud  them!  Thou 
readest  verses  about  them!  To  thee  all  of  them 
are  angels.  .  .  Nice  angels!" 

133 


THE  BULLY 

"  I  love  and  revere  women,  but  .  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  of  course,  of  course," — Avdyei  inter- 
rupted him.—"  I  'm  not  disputing  with  thee,  seest 
thou.  Why  should  I?  I  'm  a  plain  man,  of 
course." 

"  I  meant  to  say  that.  .  .  .  But  why  dost  thou, 
to-day  in  particular  ....  precisely  at  this  time 
....  begin  to  talk  about  women?  " 

"Because!" — Avdyei  smiled  significantly. — 
"Because!" 

Kister  cast  a  penetrating  glance  at  his  friend. 
He  thought  (pure  soul!)  that  Masha  had  been 
treating  him  badly;  perhaps  she  had  even  tor- 
mented him,  as  women  only  know  how  to  tor- 
ment. .  .  . 

"  Thou  art  embittered,  my  poor  Avdyei,  con- 

J.  C^otS*      •      •      • 

LutchkofF  roared  with  laughter. 

"  Well,  there  's  nothing  for  me  to  feel  embit- 
tered about,  apparently," — he  said,  with  pauses 
between  his  words,  as  he  stroked  his  moustache 
complacently. 

"  No;  see  here,  now,  Fedya,"— he  continued  in 
a  hortatory  tone: — "  I  'd  just  like  to  remark  to 
thee  that  thou  art  mistaken  on  the  score  of 
women,  my  friend.  Believe  me,  Fedya,  they  're 
all  alike.  All  one  has  to  do  is  to  put  himself  to 
a  little  trouble,  to  hover  about  them  a  bit,  and 
the  business  is  as  good  as  done.  Now,  take  Ma- 
sha PerekatofF,  for  instance.  .  .  ." 

134 


THE   BULLY 

"Well!" 

LutchkofF  tapped  the  floor  with  his  foot,  and 
wagged  his  head. 

"  What  is  there  particular  and  attractive 
about  me,  hey?  Nothing,  apparently.  Nothing, 
is  there?  And  yet  a  tryst  has  been  appointed  to 
me  for  to-morrow." 

Kister  half  rose,  propped  himself  on  his  elbow, 
and  stared  at  Lutchkoff  in  amazement. 

"  At  evening,  in  the  grove  .  .  .  ."  pursued 
Avdyei  Ivanovitch  calmly. — "  But  don't  think 
any  wrong  of  it.  I  only  did  it  so — because.  I  'm 
bored,  seest  thou.  She  's  a  very  pretty  little  girl 
....  well,  thinks  I  to  myself,  what 's  the  harm? 
As  for  marrying  her,  I  sha'n't  do  that  .... 
but  just  to  recall  the  pleasures  of  my  youth.  I  'm 
not  fond  of  fooling  round  with  women, — but  one 
may  amuse  a  wench.  We  '11  listen  to  the  night- 
ingales together.  That  is,  in  reality,  thy  busi- 
ness ;  but,  seest  thou,  that  female  has  n't  any  eyes. 
What  am  I,  I  'd  like  to  know,  in  comparison  with 
thee?  " 

Lutchkoff  talked  for  a  long  time.  But  Kister 
did  not  listen  to  him.  His  head  was  reeling.  He 
turned  white,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 
LutchkofF  wriggled  about  in  his  arm-chair,  half- 
closed  his  eyes,  stretched  himself, — and  attribut- 
ing Kister 's  emotion  to  jealousy,  almost  choked 
with  satisfaction.  But  Kister  was  not  tormented 
with  jealousy:  he  was  pained,  not  by  the  avowal 

135 


THE  BULLY 


itself,  but  by  Avdyei's  coarse  thoughtlessness,  his 
indifferent  and  scornful  way  of  speaking  about 
Masha.  He  continued  to  gaze  intently  at  the 
bully— and,  apparently,  for  the  first  time  thor- 
oughly scanned  his  features.  So  it  was  for  this 
he  had  taken  so  much  pains!  So  it  was  for  this 
that  he  had  sacrificed  his  own  inclination!  Here 
it  was — the  gracious  action  of  love! 

"  Avdyei  ...  is  it  possible  that  thou  dost  not 
love  her?  " — he  stammered  out  at  last. 

"Oh,  innocence!  Oh,  Arcadia!" — retorted 
Avdyei,  with  a  malicious  guffaw. 

Even  then  the  good  Kister  did  not  give  up: 
"  Perhaps,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  Avdyei  is  in- 
censed, and  is  '  putting  on  airs,'  according  to  his 
wont  "  ....  he  found  no  new  words  wherewith 
to  express  his  sentiments.  And  was  not  there 
another  feeling  concealed  in  him — in  Kister — 
beneath  his  indignation?  Was  it  not  because  the 
matter  concerned  Masha  that  Lutchkoff 's  con- 
fession had  struck  him  so  unpleasantly?  How 
did  he  know — perhaps  Lutchkoff  really  was  in 
love  with  her?  .  .  .  But  no!  No!  A  thousand 
times  no !  That  man  in  love  ?  .  .  .  That  detesta- 
ble man,  with  his  bilious  and  sallow  face,  with 
his  spasmodic  and  cat-like  movements,  and  his 
throat  swelling  with  delight  ....  disgusting! 
No,  not  with  such  words  would  Kister  have  ut- 
tered to  his  devoted  friend  the  secret  of  his  love. 
....  In  excess  of  happiness,  with  dumb  rap- 

136 


THE  BULLY 

ture,  with  brilliant,  copious  tears  in  his  eyes, 
he  would  have  clasped  him  to  his  breast. 

"  WeU,  brother?  "-said  Avdyei:  "thou  didst 
not  expect  this— admit  it!  And  now  thou  art 
vexed?  Hey?  Thou  art  envious ?  Confess,  Fedya ! 
Hey?  Hey?  For,  seest  thou,  I  Ve  snatched  the 
wench  away  from  under  thy  very  nose! " 

Kister  wanted  to  express  his  feelings,  but 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall. — "  Explain  myself 
.  .  .  .  before  him?  Xot  on  any  account!"  he 
whispered  to  himself.  "  He  does  not  understand 
me  ....  let  it  go!  He  takes  it  for  granted 
that  there  are  only  vile  feehngs  in  me — let 
him!  .  .  .  ." 

Avdyei  rose. 

"  I  see  that  thou  art  sleepy," — he  said  with 
feigned  sympathy:— "I  will  not  hinder  thee. 
Sleep  peacefully,  my  friend  ....  sleep!" 

And  LutchkofF  left  the  room,  extremely 
pleased  with  himself. 

Kister  could  not  get  to  sleep  until  daybreak. 
With  feverish  persistency  he  turned  over  and 
thought  over  one  and  the  same  thought — an  oc- 
cupation but  too  familiar  to  unhappy  lovers;  it 
acts  on  the  soul  like  bellows  on  smouldering  coals. 

"  Even  if  LutchkofF  is  indifferent  to  her,"  he 
thought: — "  even  if  she  has  thrown  herself  at  his 
head,  nevertheless,  he  ought  not  to  have  spoken 
so  disrespectfully,  so  insultingly  of  her  even  to 
me,  to  his  friend!    How  is  she  to  blame?    How 

137 


THE  BULLY 

can  one  help  pitying  the  poor,  inexperienced 
young  girl? 

"  But  can  it  be  that  she  has  appointed  a  tryst 
with  him?  She  has— she  really  has.  Avdyei  is 
not  lying;  he  never  hes.  But  perhaps  it  is  only 
a  fancy  on  her  part.  .  .  . 

"  But  she  does  not  know  him.  .  .  .  He  is  ca- 
pable of  insulting  her,  I  think.  After  what  has 
happened  to-day,  I  can  answer  for  nothing.  .  .  . 
And  was  n't  it  you  yourself,  Mr.  Kister,  who 
lauded  and  exalted  him?  Was  n't  it  you  your- 
self who  excited  her  curiosity?  .  .  .  But  who 
could  have  known?  Who  could  have  foreseen 
this?  .  .  . 

"  Foreseen  what?  Is  it  long  since  he  ceased 
to  be  my  friend?  .  .  .  But  enough  of  that;  has 
he  ever  been  my  friend?  What  a  disenchant- 
ment!   What  a  lesson! " 

The  whole  past  gyrated  in  a  whirlwind  before 
Kister's  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  have  loved  him,"  he  whis- 
pered at  last.—"  Why  have  I  ceased  to  love  him? 
So  speedily?  ....  And  have  I  ceased  to  love 
him?  No.  Why  did  I  take  a  fancy  to  him?  I 
alone? " 

Kister's  loving  heart  had  attached  itself  to 
Avdyei  precisely  because  all  the  others  shunned 
him.  But  the  kind  young  man  did  not  himself 
know  how  great  was  his  kindness. 

"  It  is  my  duty  "—he  went  on—"  to  warn 
Marya  Sergyeevna.    But  how?    What  right  have 

138 


THE  BULLY 

I  to  meddle  in  other  people's  affairs,  in  other  peo- 
ple's love?     How  do  I  know  what  sort  of  love 

it  is?  Perhaps,  even  in  LutchkoiF  himself 

No!  "  he  said  aloud,  with  vexation,  almost  with 
tears,  as  he  adjusted  his  pillows: — "  that  man  is 
a  stone.  ... 

"  I  myself  am  to  blame.  ...  I  have  lost  my 
friend.  ...  A  nice  friend!  And  she  is  nice! 
.  .  .  What  a  hateful  egoist  I  am!  No!  No! 
From  the  depths  of  my  soul  I  wish  them  happi- 
ness. .  .  .  Happiness!  and  he  jeers  at  her!  .  .  . 
And  why  does  he  dye  his  moustache?  Really, 
now,  it  seems  as  though  ....  Akh,  how  ridicu- 
lous I  am!  "—he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  as  he 
fell  asleep. 

VII 

The  next  morning  Kister  drove  to  the  Pere- 
katofFs'.  When  they  met,  Kister  perceived  a 
great  change  in  Masha,  and  Masha  also  found 
him  changed;  but  both  held  their  peace.  They 
both  felt  awkward  the  whole  morning,  contrary 
to  their  wont.  At  home  Kister  had  prepared  a 
large  stock  of  ambiguous  speeches  and  hints,  of 
friendly  counsels  ....  but  all  these  prepara- 
tions proved  to  be  utterly  useless.  Masha  dimly 
felt  that  Kister  was  watching  her;  it  seemed  to 
her  that  he  intentionally  uttered  some  words  in 
a  significant  manner;  but  she  also  felt  conscious 

139 


THE  BULLY 

of  the  existence  of  agitation  within  herself,  and 
did  not  trust  her  observations.  "  I  do  hope  he 
will  not  take  it  into  his  head  to  stay  until  even- 
ing! "  she  kept  incessantly  thinking,  and  she  tried 
to  make  him  understand  that  he  was  not  wanted. 
On  his  side,  Kister  accepted  her  awkwardness, 
her  trepidation,  for  visible  tokens  of  love,  and 
the  more  he  feared  for  her,  the  less  could  he  make 
up  his  mind  to  speak  of  LutchkoiF,  while  Ma- 
sha  persistently  abstained  from  alluding  to  him. 
Poor  Feodor  Feodorovitch  was  in  a  painful  po- 
sition. He  had  begun,  at  last,  to  understand 
his  own  feelings.  Never  had  Masha  appeared 
to  him  more  charming.  Evidently,  she  had  not 
slept  all  night.  A  slight  flush  had  started  forth 
in  blotches  on  her  pale  face ;  her  form  was  slightly 
bowed;  an  involuntary,  languid  smile  never  left 
her  lips;  now  and  then  a  shiver  ran  over  her 
shoulders,  which  had  grown  pallid;  her  glances 
kindled  softly  and  swiftly  died  out.  .  .  Nenfla 
Makarievna  sat  down  beside  them  and,  possibly 
with  deliberate  intent,  mentioned  Avdyei  Ivano- 
vitch.  But  Masha,  in  the  presence  of  her  mother, 
was  armed  jusquaux  dents,  as  the  French  say, 
and  did  not  betray  herself  in  the  least.  Thus 
passed  the  whole  morning. 

"You  will  dine  with  us?"-Nenila  Maka- 
rievna asked  Kister. 

Masha  turned  away. 

"  No,"— enunciated    Kister,    hastily,    with    a 

140 


THE  BULLY 

glance  at  Masha. — "  You  must  excuse  me  .  .  . 
the  obligations  of  the  service.  .  ." — Nenila  Ma- 
karievna  expressed  her  regret,  as  was  proper ;  fol- 
lowing her  example,  ]VIr.  PerekatofF  expressed 
something  or  other.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  be  in  any- 
one's way,"  Kister  wanted  to  say  to  Masha,  as 
he  passed  her,  but  instead,  he  bent  forward  and 
whispered:  "May  you  be  happy  .  .  .  farewell 
.  .  .  beware  .  .  ."  and  disappeared. 

Masha  heaved  a  sigh  from  the  bottom  of  her 
soul,  and  then  felt  frightened  at  his  departure. 
What  was  it  that  was  torturing  her?  Love  or 
curiosity?  God  knows;  but  we  repeat;  curiosity 
was  sufficient  to  ruin  Eve. 

VIII 

A  BROAD,  level  field  on  the  right  side  of  the  little 
river  Snyezhinka,  about  a  verst  distant  from  the 
PerekatofFs'  estate,  bore  the  name  of  Long  Mea- 
dow. The  left  bank,  all  covered  with  thick,  young 
oak-scrub,  rose  steeplj^  above  the  river,  which  was 
almost  overgrown  with  willow-bushes,  with  the 
exception  of  small  "  creeks,"  the  haunt  of  wild 
ducks.  Half  a  verst  from  tlie  river,  in  this  same 
Long  Meadow,  began  sloping,  undulating  hil- 
locks, here  and  there  studded  with  ancient  birches, 
hazel-  and  viburnum-bushes. 

The  sun  had  set.  A  mill  was  whirring  and 
clattering  in  the  distance,  now  loudly,  now  more 

141 


THE  BULLY 

softly,  according  to  the  wind.  The  gentry's 
drove  of  horses  was  wandering  idly  through  the 
meadow;  the  shepherd  was  strolling  along,  sing- 
ing, behind  his  greedy  and  timorous  sheep;  the 
sheep-dogs  were  chasing  crows  out  of  pure  te- 
dium. Through  the  grove,  with  his  arms  folded, 
strode  Lutchkoff.  More  than  once  already  his 
tethered  horse  had  responded  impatiently  to  the 
ringing  neighs  of  the  colts  and  mares.  Avdyei 
was  raging  and  quailing,  as  was  his  wont.  Still 
unconvinced  of  Masha's  love,  he  was  already 
furiously  angry  with  her,  and  irritated  at  him- 
self ....  but  the  emotion  in  him  overwhelmed 
the  vexation.  He  halted  at  last,  in  front  of  a 
wide-spreading  hazel-bush,  and  began  with  his 
riding-whip  to  flick  off  the  outermost  leaves.  .  .  . 

He  heard  a  faint  noise  ....  he  raised  his 
head.  .  .  .  Ten  paces  from  him  stood  Masha,  all 
rosy  with  her  swift  walk,  wearing  a  hat  but  no 
gloves,  in  a  white  gown,  with  a  kerchief  hastily 
knotted  about  her  neck.  She  hastily  dropped  her 
eyes  and  swayed  softly. 

Avdyei  approached  her  clumsily  and  with  a 
constrained  smile. 

"  How  happy  I  am  .  .  ."  he  was  beginning, 
almost  inaudibly. 

"  I  am  very  glad  ....  to  meet  you,  .  .  ." 
Masha  interrupted  him,  panting. — "  I  generally 
take  a  stroll  here  in  the  evening  ....  and 
you  .  .  .  ." 

142 


I 


THE  BULLY 

But  LutchkoflF  did  not  even  understand  how 
to  spare  her  modesty,  to  back  up  her  innocent 
lie. 

"  I  think,  Marya  Sergyeevna,"— he  said  with 
dignity, — "  that  you  yourself  were  pleased  to  . . ." 

"  Yes  ....  yes  .  .  .  ."  returned  Masha, 
hastily.  "  You  wished  to  see  me ;  you  wanted 
to  .  .  .  ."  Her  voice  had  died  away. 

LutchkofF  maintained  silence.  Masha  timidly 
raised  her  eyes. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  began,  without  looking  at 
her: — "I  am  a  plain  man  and  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  explaining  myself  ....  with  ladies. 
....  I  ...  .  wanted  to  speak  to  you  .... 
but,  you  are  not  inclined  to  listen  to  me,  I 
think.  .  .  ." 
opeai^.  ... 

*'  You  command.  .  .  .  Well,  then,  I  will  say 
to  you  frankly,  that  this  long  time,  ever  since  I 

had    the    pleasure    of    making    your    acquaint- 

■>■) 
ance  .... 

Avdyei  paused.  Masha  waited  for  him  to 
finish  his  speech. 

"  However,  I  do  not  know  why  I  am  saying 
all  this  to  you. . . .  One  cannot  alter  his  fate.  .  .  ." 

*'  How  do  you  know?  .  .  ." 

"  I  do  know!  " — responded  Avdyei,  gloomily. 
— "  I  am  accustomed  to  encounter  its  blows!  " 

It  seemed  to  Masha  that  now,  at  least,  Lutch- 
koff  had  no  occasion  to  complain  of  his  fate. 

148 


THE  BULLY 

"  There  are  kind  people  in  the  world,"— she 
remarked  with  a  smile: — "even  too  kind.  .  .  ." 

"  I  understand  you,  Marya  Sergyeevna,  and, 
believe  me,  I  know  how  to  value  your  affection. 
....  I  ....  I  ...  .  You   will   not   be   an- 

gry?" 

"  No.  .  .  .  What  is  it  that  you  wish  to  say? " 

"  I  wish  to  say  ....  that  I  hke  you  .... 
Marya  Sergyeevna  ....  that  I  like  you  very 
much.  ..." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you," — Masha  inter- 
rupted him  in  confusion;  her  heart  contracted 
with  anticipation  and  with  terror. — "  Akh,  look, 
Mr.  Lutchkoff,"— she  went  on, — "  look,  what  a 
view !  * 

She  pointed  to  the  meadow,  all  streaked  with 
long,  evening  shadows,  all  crimson  in  the  sun- 
light. 

Inwardly  delighted  at  the  unexpected  change 
in  the  conversation,  Lutchkoff  began  to  "  ad- 
mire "  the  view.  He  was  standing  by  Masha's 
side.  .  .  . 

"  Do  you  love  nature?  " — she  suddenly  asked, 
swiftly  turning  her  head  and  looking  at  him 
with  that  friendly,  curious  and  soft  glance  which, 
like  a  ringing  voice,  is  given  only  to  young 
girls. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  nature  ....  of  course  .  .  .  ." 
stammered  Avdyei.— "  Of  course  ....  it  is 
pleasant  to  stroll  in  the  evening,  although,  I  must 

144 


THE  BULLY 

confess,  that  I  am  a  soldier,  and  softness  is  n't 
in  my  line." 

Lutchkoff  was  given  to  frequently  repeating 
that  he  was  a  "  soldier."  A  brief  silence  ensued. 
Masha  continued  to  gaze  at  the  meadow. 

"  Shall  not  I  go  away?  "—thought  Avdyei.— 
"What  nonsense!  Be  bolder!  .  .  .  Marya  Ser- 
gyeevna  .  .  .  ."—he  began  with  a  fairly  firm 
voice. 

Masha  turned  her  head. 

"  Excuse  me," — he  began,  as  though  jesting: 
— "  but  permit  me  on  my  side  to  inquire  what 
you  think  of  me ;  whether  you  feel  any  ....  you 
know  ....  inclination  toward  my  person?  " 

"  Good  heavens,  how  clumsy  he  is!  "  said  Ma- 
sha to  herself. — "  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Lutchkoff," 
— she  answered  him  with  a  smile, — "  that  it  is 
not  always  easy  to  give  a  definite  reply  to  a  defi- 
nite question? " 

"  But  .  .  .  ." 

"  But  why  do  you  ask?  " 

*'  Why,  good  gracious,  I  want  to  know.  .  .  ." 

"  But  ....  is  it  true  that  you  are  a  great 
duellist?  Tell  me,  is  it  true?  " — said  Masha,  with 
timid  curiosity.  —  "  They  say  that  you  have  killed 
more  than  one  man  already." 

"  That  has  happened," — returned  Avdyei,  in- 
differently, and  stroked  his  moustache. 

Masha  gazed  intently  at  him. 

"  With  this  hand  here  .  .  .  ."  she  whispered. 

145 


THE  BULLY 

In  the  meantime,  the  blood  had  begun  to  wax 
hot  in  Lutchkoff.  For  more  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  already  a  pretty  young  girl  had  been 
moving  about  before  him.  ... 

"  Marya  Sergyeevna,"— he  began  again  in  a 
sharp,  strange  voice,—"  you  know  my  feelings 
now,  you  know  why  I  wished  to  see  you.  .  .  , 
You  have  been  so  kind.  .  .  .  Now  do  you  tell 
me,  at  last,  what  I  may  hope  for.  .  .  ." 

Masha  was  twirling  a  wild  pink  in  her  hands. 
....  She  darted  a  sidelong  glance  at  Lutch- 
kofF,  blushed,  smiled,  and  said:— "What  non- 
sense you  are  talking!"  and  gave  him  the 
flower. 

Avdyei  seized  her  hand. 

"  So  you  love  me!  "—he  exclaimed.  ' 

Masha  turned  cold  all  over  with  terror.  She 
had  had  no  thought  of  confessing  love  to  Avdyei ; 
she  herself  did  not  yet  know  for  a  surety  whether 
she  loved  him,  and  here  he  was  forestalling  her, 
forcibly  making  her  speak  out— he  could  not 
have  understood  her.  .  .  .  This  thought  flashed 
through  Masha's  mind  more  quickly  than  light- 
ning. She  had  not  in  the  least  expected  so  speedy 
a  conclusion.  .  .  .  Masha,  like  a  curious  child, 
had  been  asking  herself  all  day:  "  Is  it  possible 
that  Lutchkofl"  loves  me?  "  She  had  been  dream- 
ing of  a  pleasant  evening  stroll,  tender  and  re- 
spectful speeches;  she  had  mentally  coquetted, 
had  tamed  her  savage,  had  permitted  him,  at 

146 


THE  BULLY 

parting,  to  kiss  her  hand  ....  and  instead  of 
xnaL  .... 

Instead  of  that,  she  suddenly  felt  Avdyei's 
stiff  moustache  on  her  cheek.  .  .  . 

"  Let  us  be  happy,"  he  whispered: — "  for  there 
is  but  one  happiness  on  earth !  .  .  .  ." 

Masha  shuddered,  sprang  aside  in  affright,  all 
pale,  and  halted,  with  her  hand  resting  against 
a  birch-tree.    Avdyei  was  terribly  confused. 

*'  Forgive  me,"— he  stammered,  moving  to- 
ward her:—"  I  really  did  not  think  .  .  .  ." 

Masha  stared  at  him  in  silence,  with  all  her 
eyes.  .  .  . 

His  lips  curled  in  a  disagreeable  smile  .  .  .  . 
red  spots  started  out  on  his  face.  .  .  . 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ? "— he  went  on. 
"  What  a  fuss  about  nothing !  For  between  us 
everything  is  already  ....  you  know  .  .  .  ." 

Masha  made  no  reply. 

"  Come,  stop  that!  ....  What  folly  is  this? 
It  's  only  .  .  .  ." 

LutchkofF  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  her. . . 

Masha  recalled  Kister  and  his  "Beware!" 
nearly  fainted  with  terror,  and  began  to  scream 
in  a  decidedly  shrill  voice : 

"Taniusha!" 

From  behind  a  hazel-bush  popped  forth  the 
round  face  of  her  maid.  .  .  .  Avdyei  completely 
lost  himself.  Reassured  by  the  presence  of  her 
servant,  JNIasha  did  not  stir  from  the  spot.    But 

147 


THE  BULLY 

the  bully  began  to  quiver  all  over  with  a  fit  of 
wrath ;  his  eyes  grew  narrow ;  he  clenched  his  fists, 
and  began  to  laugh  loudly  and  convulsively. 

"Bravo!  Bravo!  'T  is  clever— there  's  no 
denying  that!  "—he  shouted. 

Masha  was  petrified. 

"  I  see  that  you  have  taken  all  measures  of  pre- 
caution, Mary  a  Sergyeevna!  Precaution  never 
comes  amiss.  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing? 
Nowadays  the  young  ladies  are  more  sharp- 
sighted  than  the  old  men.  There  's  love  for  you !  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  ]VIr.  Lutchkoff ,  who  has  given 
you  the  right  to  speak  of  love  ....  of  what 
sort  of  love? " 

"Who,  did  you  say?  Why,  you  yourself!" 
—Lutchkoff  interrupted  her.— There  it  was 
again:  he  was  conscious  that  he  was  ruining 
the  whole  business,  but  he  could  not  restrain  him- 
self. 

"  I  have  acted  thoughtlessly,"— said  Masha. 
..."  I  condescended  to  your  entreaty  with  con- 
fidence in  your  delicatesse  ....  but  you  do  not 
understand  French — in  your  courtesy.  .  .  ." 

Avdyei  turned  pale.  Masha  had  struck  him 
straight  in  the  heart! 

"I  don't  understand  French  .  .  .  possibly; 
but  I  do  understand  ....  I  do  understand  that 
it  has  pleased  you  to  make  sport  of  me." 

"  Not  at  all,  Avdyei  Ivanovitch.  ...  I  am 
even  very  sorry  for  you." 

148 


THE  BULLY 

"  Please  do  not  talk  about  your  compassion," 
— Avdyei  interrupted  her  testily: — "you  may, 
at  least,  spare  me  that!  " 

"  Mr.  LutchkofF  .  .  .  ." 

"  And  be  so  good  as  not  to  look  like  a  duch- 
ess. .  .  'T  is  labour  wasted!  You  can't 
frighten  me! " 

JVIasha  retreated  a  pace,  wheeled  swiftly  round, 
and  walked  away. 

"  Do  you  command  me  to  send  you  your 
friend,  your  shepherd,  the  sentimental  Lovey- 
dovey  Kister?  "—Avdyei  shouted  after  her.  He 
had  lost  his  head.—"  Is  n't  he  thy  friend? " 

Masha  did  not  answer  him,  and  beat  a  hasty, 
a  joyful  retreat.  She  felt  at  ease,  in  spite  of 
the  alarm  and  agitation.  She  seemed  to  have 
awakened  from  a  painful  dream,  to  have  emerged 
from  a  dark  chamber  into  the  air  and  sunlight. 
.  .  .  Avdyei,  like  a  fanatic,  stared  around  him, 
with  dumb  rage  broke  off  a  young  sapling, 
sprang  on  his  horse,  and  dug  his  spurs  into  it  so 
viciously,  so  pitilessly  twisted  and  tugged  at  the 
bridle,  that  the  unhappy  animal,  after  gallop- 
ing eight  versts  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  came 
near  dying  that  same  night.  .  . 

Kister  waited  in  vain  until  midnight  for 
Lutchkoff,  and  on  the  following  morning  he 
went  to  him.  The  orderly  informed  Feodor  Feo- 
dorovitch  that  his  master  was  asleep,  and  had 
given  orders  that  no  one  was  to  be  admitted. 

149 


THE  BULLY 

"  Not  even  me?  "— "  Not  even  your  Weil-Born." 
— Kister  walked  the  length  of  the  street  twice  in 
torturing  uneasiness,  then  went  home.  His  man 
handed  him  a  note. 

"  From  whom  is  it?  " 

*'  From  the  PerekatofFs,  sir.  Artyomka,  the 
valet,  brought  it." 

Kister's  hands  trembled. 

"  They  ordered  their  compliments  to  be  pre- 
sented to  you.  They  requested  an  answer.  Do 
you  command  that  vodka  be  given  to  Artyomka, 
sirf 

Kister  slowly  unfolded  the  note,  and  read  the 
following : 

Dear,  kikd  Feodor  Feodorovitch  ! 

I  want  very,  very  much  to  see  you.  Come  to-day, 
if  you  can.  Do  not  refuse  my  request,!  beg  of  you,  in  the 
name  of  our  old  friendship.  If  you  only  knew  .... 
but  you  shall  know  all.    Au  revoir — is  it  not? 

P.  S.    Be  sure  to  come  to-day. 

"  And  do  you  command,  sir,  that  vodka  be 
given  to  Artyomka,  the  valet? " 

Kister  stared  for  a  long  time,  with  amazement, 
into  his  man's  face,  and  left  the  room  without 
uttering  a  word. 

"  The  master  has  commanded  to  give  thee 
vodka,  and  has  commanded  me  to  have  a  drink 
with  thee," — said  Kister's  man  to  Artyomka,  the 
valet. 

150 


THE  BULLY 


IX 


When  Kister  entered  the  drawing-room,  Ma- 
sha  came  to  meet  him  with  so  bright  and  noble  a 
face,  pressed  his  hand  so  firmly  and  in  so  friendly 
a  manner,  that  his  heart  began  to  beat  violently 
with  joy,  and  a  stone  was  rolled  away  from  his 
breast.  But  Masha  said  not  a  word  to  him,  and 
immediately  left  the  room.  Sergyei  Sergyee- 
vitch  was  sitting  on  the  divan,  and  laj^ing  out  a 
game  of  patience.  A  conversation  began.  Be- 
fore Sergyei  Sergyeevitch  had  managed,  accord- 
ing to  his  habit,  to  bring  the  subject  round  to  his 
dog  in  circuitous  fashion,  Masha  re-entered  with 
a  plaid  silk  sash  on  her  gown, — Kister's  favourite 
sash.  Nenila  Makarievna  made  her  appearance 
and  welcomed  Feodor  Feodorovitch  cordially. 
At  dinner  they  all  laughed  and  jested;  even 
Sergyei  Sergyeevitch  grew  animated,  and  nar- 
rated one  of  the  merriest  pranks  of  his  boyhood, 
—and  as  he  did  so,  he  hid  his  head  from  his  wife, 
like  an  ostrich. 

"  Let  us  go  for  a  walk,  Feodor  Feodorovitch," 
— said  Masha  to  Kister  after  dinner,  with 
that  affectionate  authority  in  her  voice  which 
seems  to  know  that  you  will  be  glad  to  obey 
it. — "  I  must  have  a  chat  with  you  about  an  im- 
portant, a  very  important  matter,"— she  added, 
with   graceful   solemnity,    as   she   drew   on   her 

151 


THE  BULLY 

suede     gloves. — "  Wilt    thou    come    with    us. 


maman 


?'' 


No," — replied  Nenila  Makarievna. 

"  But  we  will  not  go  into  the  park." 

"Where  then?" 

"  To  the  Long  Meadow,  to  the  grove." 

"  Take  Taniusha  with  you." 

"  Taniusha,  Taniusha!  "—cried  Masha,  ring- 
ingly,  as  she  fluttered  out  of  the  room  more 
lightly  than  a  bird. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Masha  was  walk- 
ing with  Kister  in  the  Long  Meadow.  As  they 
passed  the  herd,  she  fed  her  favourite  cow  with 
bread,  patted  her  head,  and  made  Kister  pet  her. 
Masha  was  merry,  and  chattered  a  great  deal. 
Kister  willingly  fell  in  with  her  mood,  although 
he  was  impatiently  awaiting  an  explanation. 
.  .  .  .  Taniusha  walked  behind  at  a  respectful 
distance,  and  only  now  and  then  cast  a  sly  glance 
at  her  young  mistress. 

"  You  are  not  vexed  with  me,  Feodor  Feodoro- 
vitch?" — asked  Masha. 

"  At  you,  Marya  Sergyeevna?  Good  heavens, 
for  what? " 

"  Day  before  yesterday  ...  do  you  remem- 
ber?" 

"  You  were  out  of  sorts  ....  that  is  all." 

"  Why  are  we  walking  apart?  Give  me  your 
arm.  There,  that  's  right.  .  .  And  you  were 
out  of  sorts,  too." 

"  So  I  was." 

152 


THE  BULLY 

*'  But  to-day  I  am  in  good  spirits,  am  I  not?  " 

"  Yes,  to-day  I  think  you  are.  ..." 

"  And  do  you  know  why?  Because  .  .  ." — 
Masha  nodded  her  head  gravely.—"  Well,  I 
know  why.  .  .  .  Because  I  am  with  you," — she 
added,  without  looking  at  Kister. 

Kister  gently  pressed  her  arm. 

"  But  why  don't  you  question  me?  .  .  ."  said 
Masha  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What  about? " 

"  Come,  don't  pretend  ....  about  my  let- 
ter." 

"  I  was  waiting.  .  .  ." 

"  That  's  why  I  feel  so  cheerful  with  you," — 
Masha  interrupted  him  with  vivacity: — "  because 
you  are  a  kind,  tender  man;  because  you  are  in- 
capable of  .  .  .  parce  que  vous  avez  de  la  de- 
licatesse.  One  can  say  that  to  you;  you  under- 
stand French." 

Kister  did  understand  French,  but  he  posi- 
tively did  not  understand  Masha. 

"  Pluck  that  flower  for  me — that  one  yonder 
.  .  .  how  pretty  it  is!  "—Masha  admired  it,  and 
all  of  a  sudden,  swiftly  freeing  her  arm,  she 
began,  with  an  anxious  smile,  cautiously  to  thrust 
the  supple  stem  through  the  buttonhole  of  Kis- 
ter's  coat.  Her  slender  fingers  almost  touched 
his  lips.  He  gazed  at  those  fingers,  then  at  her. 
She  nodded  her  head,  as  much  as  to  say:  "  You 
may  .  .  ."  Kister  bent  down,  and  kissed  the 
tips  of  her  gloves.  .  . 

153 


THE  BULLY 

In  the  meantime,  they  had  drawn  near  the 
familiar  grove.  Masha  suddenly  became  more 
pensive,  and  at  last  fell  silent  altogether.  They 
came  to  the  very  spot  where  Lutchkoff  had 
waited  for  her.  The  trampled  grass  had  not  yet 
succeeded  in  lifting  itself;  the  broken  sapling 
had  already  withered,  its  leaves  had  already  be- 
gun to  curl  up  into  tubes  and  dry.  Masha  swept 
a  glance  around,  and  suddenly  turned  to  Kister. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  brought  you 
hither? " 

"  No,  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  don't  know?  .  .  .  Because  you  have 
said  nothing  to  me  to-day  about  your  friend 
Mr.  Lutchkoff.  You  have  always  praised 
him.  .  .  ." 

Kister  dropped  his  eyes  and  remained  silent. 

"  Do  you  know," — enunciated  Masha,  not 
without  an  effort: — "that  I  appointed  with  him 
...  a  tryst  ....  here  .  .  .  yesterday  evening? " 

"  I  knew  it,"— replied  Kister,  dully. 

"You  knew  it?  .  .  .  Ah!  now  I  understand 
why,  the  day  before  yesterday  ....  Mr. 
Lutchkoff,  evidently,  made  haste  to  boast  of  his 
conquest." 

Kister  made  an  attempt  to  reply.  .  .  . 

"Don't  speak;  don't  make  me  any  answer. 
....  I  know— he  is  your  friend;  you  are  ca- 
pable of  defending  him.  You  knew,  Kister,  you 
knew.  .  .  How  is  it  that  you  did  not  prevent 

154 


THE   BULLY 

my  perpetrating  such  a  piece  of  folly?  Why 
did  n't  you  pull  my  ears,  as  though  I  had 
been  a  child?  You  knew  ....  and  you  did  not 
caref 

"  But  what  right  had  I?  .  .  ." 

"What  right!  ....  The  right  of  a  friend. 
But  he  is  your  friend.  ...  I  am  ashamed,  Kis- 
ter.  .  .  He  is  your  friend.  .  .  That  man  treated 
me  yesterday  so  .  .  .  ." 

Masha  turned  away.  Kister's  eyes  flashed;  he 
turned  pale. 

"  Come,  enough,  don't  get  angry.  .  .  .  Do 
you  hear  me,  Feodor  Feodorovitch,  don't  get 
angry.  Everything  is  for  the  best.  I  am  very 
glad  of  yesterday's  explanation  .  .  .  precisely 
that— explanation," — added  Masha.— "For  what 
purpose,  think  you,  have  I  spoken  to  you  about 
this?  In  order  to  complain  of  Mr.  Lutchkoff? 
Not  at  all !  I  have  forgotten  all  about  him.  But 
I  am  to  blame  toward  you,  my  kind  friend.  .  .  I 
want  to  explain  myself,  to  beg  your  forgiveness 
.  .  .  your  advice.  You  have  taught  me  to  be 
frank;  I  am  at  my  ease  with  you.  .  .  .  You  are 
not  a  Mr.  Lutchkoff!" 

"  Lutchkofl*  is  awkward  and  rough," — said 
Kister  with  difficulty:— "  but  .  .  ." 

"  What  is  that  hut?  Are  n't  you  ashamed  to 
say  '  hut  ^?  He  is  rough,  and  awkward,  and  ma- 
licious, and  self -conceited.  .  .  And^  do  you  hear? 
not  hut.'' 

15S 


THE  BULLY 

"  You  are  speaking  under  the  influence  of 
wrath,  Marya  Sergyeevna," — said  Kister,  sadly. 

"Wrath?  What  sort  of  wrath?  Look  at 
me:  is  this  the  way  people  look  when  they  are 
wrathful?  Listen,"— pursued  Masha:— *' thmk 
of  me  as  you  will  ....  but  if  you  imagine 
that  I  am  coquetting  to-day  with  you  out  of 
revenge,  then— then  .  .  .  ."  Tears  welled 
up  in  her  eyes:— "Then  I  shall  be  seriously 
angry." 

"  Be  frank  with  me,  Marya  Sergyeevna.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  you  stupid  man!  Oh,  dull-witted  one! 
Why,  look  at  me.  Am  not  I  frank  with  you? 
Don't  you  see  through  and  through  me?  " 

"Very  well  ....  yes;  I  believe  you," — 
went  on  Kister  with  a  smile,  seeing  with  what 
anxious  persistence  she  sought  his  gaze;— "but 
come  now,  tell  me,  what  prompted  you  to  ap- 
point a  meeting  with  Lutchkoff  ?  " 

"  What?  I  don't  know  myself.  He  wanted  to 
talk  with  me  alone.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  had 
not  yet  had  time,  or  the  opportunity  to  say  all  he 
wished.  Now  he  has  spoken  out!  Listen!  Per- 
haps he  is  a  remarkable  man,  but  he  is— stupid; 
really  he  is.  .  .  He  does  n't  know  how  to  utter 
two  words.  He  's— downright  discourteous. 
However,  I  do  not  blame  him  so  very  much  .  .  . 
he  may  have  thought  that  I  was  a  giddy,  crazy 
little  girl.  I  had  hardly  ever  talked  with  him. 
....  He  really  did  arouse  my  curiosity,  but  I 

156 


THE  BULLY 

imagined  that  a  man  who  desen^ed  to  be  your 
friend  .  .  .  ." 

"  Please  do  not  speak  of  him  as  my  friend," — 
Kister  interrupted  her. 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  want  to  bring  about  a  quarrel 
between  you." 

*'  Oh,  my  God,  for  your  sake  I  am  ready  to 
sacrifice  not  only  my  friend,  but  even  ....  Be- 
tween me  and  Mr.  LutchkofF  all  is  at  an  end! " 
—added  Kister,  hastily.  Masha  gazed  intently 
into  his  face. 

"Well,  I  've  done  with  him!" — said  she. — 
"  Let  us  not  talk  of  him.  It  is  a  lesson  to  me  for 
the  future.  I  myself  am  to  blame.  For  several 
months  in  succession  I  have  seen  almost  every 
day  a  kind,  clever,  merry,  affectionate  man, 
who  .  .  .  ."  Masha  became  confused  and  hesi- 
tated:— "who,  I  think,  also  .  .  .  liked  me  .  .  . 
a  httle  .  .  .  and  I,  the  stupid,"— she  added 
quickly, — "  preferred  to  him  ....  no,  no,  did 
not  prefer,  but  .  .  .  ." 

She  bent  her  head,  and  fell  silent  with  con- 
fusion. 

Kister  was  startled.— "  It  cannot  be!"— he 
kept  reiterating  to  himself. 

"  Marya  Sergyeevna!  "—he  said  at  last. 

Masha  raised  her  head  and  let  her  eyes  rest  on 
him,  burdened  with  unshed  tears. 

"  You  do  not  guess  of  whom  I  am  speaking?  " 
she  asked. 

157 


THE  BULLY 

Hardly  breathing,  Kister  extended  his  hand. 
Masha  immediately  grasped  it  with  fervour. 

"  You  are  my  friend,  as  before,  are  you  not?  " 
.  .  .  Why  do  not  you  answer?  " 

"  I  am  your  friend,  you  know  that,"— he  stam- 
mered. 

"  And  you  do  not  condemn  me?  .  .  .  you  un- 
derstand me?  You  will  not  laugh  at  a  girl  who 
yesterday  appointed  a  rendezvous  for  one  man, 
and  to-day  is  already  talking  with  another  as  I 
am  talking  with  you.  .  .  .  You  will  not  laugh 
at  me,  will  you?"  .  .  .  Masha's  face  reddened; 
with  both  hands  she  clung  to  Kister's  hand.  .  .  . 

"  Laugh  at  you,"— replied  Kister:—"  I  .  .  .  . 
I  .  .  .  .  why,  I  love  you  ....  I  love  you!  "— 
he  exclaimed.  ' 

Masha  covered  her  face. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  have  not  known  this 
long  time,  Marya  Sergyeevna,  that  I  love  you?  " 


X 

Three  weeks  after  this  interview,  Kister  was 
sitting  alone  in  his  room,  and  writing  the  follow- 
ing letter  to  his  mother: 

Dear  Mamma  : 

I  hasten  to  share  with  you  a  great  joy;  I  am  going 
to  be  married.  This  news  will  probably  surprise  you 
only  because,  in  my  previous  letters,  I  have  not  even 

158 


THE  BULLY 

hinted  at  such  a  grave  change  in  my  life, — but  you 
know  that  I  am  in  the  habit  of  sharing  with  you 
all  my  feelings,  my  joys  and  my  sorrows.  It  is  easy 
for  me  to  explain  to  you  the  cause  of  my  silence. 
In  the  first  place,  I  only  recently  learned  myself  that  I 
am  beloved ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  on  my  side,  I  as 
recently  felt  the  full  power  of  my  own  attachment.  In 
one  of  my  first  letters  from  here,  I  spoke  to  you  of  the 
Perekatoff s,  our  neighbours ;  I  am  going  to  marry  their 
only  daughter,  Marya.  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  we 
shall  both  be  happy ;  she  has  excited  in  me  not  a  momen- 
tary passion,  but  a  deep,  genuine  feeling,  in  which  friend- 
ship is  combined  with  love.  Her  cheerful,  gentle  dispo- 
sition entirely  corresponds  to  my  inclinations.  She  is 
cultured,  clever,  plays  beautifully  on  the  piano.  .  .  . 
If  you  could  only  see  her ! !  I  send  you  her  portrait, 
sketched  by  myself.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say,  I  think, 
that  she  is  a  hundred  times  better  than  her  portrait. 
Masha  already  loves  you  like  a  daughter,  and  is  im- 
patiently awaiting  the  day  of  meeting  you.  I  intend 
to  retire  from  the  service,  settle  down  in  the  country, 
and  busy  myself  with  agriculture.  The  old  man  Pere- 
katoflp  has  four  hundred  serfs  in  excellent  condition. 
You  see,  that  from  the  material  point  of  view  also, 
it  is  impossible  not  to  laud  my  decision.  I  shall  get  a 
leave  of  absence,  and  go  to  Moscow  and  to  you.  Expect 
me  a  fortnight  hence,  not  later.  My  dear,  good  mamma 
— how  happy  I  am!  ....  Embrace  me".  .  .  .  and  so 
forth. 

Kister  folded  and  sealed  his  letter,  rose,  went 
to  the  window,  lighted  his  pipe,  reflected  a  while, 

159 


THE  BULLY 

and  returned  to  the  table.  He  got  a  small  sheet 
of  paper,  carefully  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink, 
but  for  a  long  time  did  not  begin  to  write,  con- 
tracted his  brows,  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling, 
nibbled  the  end  of  his  pen.  .  .  .  At  last  he  made 
up  his  mind — and  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  he  had  composed  the  following  missive : 

Dear  Sir, 

avdyei  ivanovitch  : 

Ever  since  the  day  of  your  last  call  (that  is  to  say, 
for  the  last  three  weeks),  you  have  not  bowed  to  me, 
have  not  spoken  to  me,  and  seem  to  avoid  meeting  me. 
Every  man  is,  indisputably,  free  to  act  as  he  likes ;  it  has 
suited  you  to  break  off  our  acquaintance — and  I,  believe 
me,  am  not  appealing  to  you  with  a  complaint  against 
you;  I  have  no  intention,  and  am  not  accustomed  to 
force  myself  on  any  one  whomsoever;  the  consciousness 
of  my  own  uprightness  is  sufficient  for  me.  I  write  to 
you  now  from  a  sense  of  duty.  I  have  proposed  to 
Marya  Sergyeevna  PerekatofF,  and  have  received  her 
consent,  and  also  the  consent  of  her  parents.  I  impart 
this  information — directly  and  immediately  to  you,  with 
a  view  to  avoiding  all  misunderstandings  and  suspicions. 
I  frankly  confess  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  cannot  care 
overmuch  for  the  opinion  of  a  man  who  himself  pays 
not  the  slightest  heed  to  the  opinions  and  feelings  of 
other  people,  and  I  write  to  you  solely  because,  in  this 
case,  I  do  not  wish  to  appear  to  have  acted  or  to  be 
acting  stealthily.  I  venture  to  say,  that  you  know  me, 
and  will  not  ascribe  to  my  present  act  any  other,  any 
evil  significance.      Speaking  to  you  now,   for  the  last 

160 


THE  BULLY 

time,  I  cannot  refrain  from  wishing  you,  in  memory  of 
our  former  friendship,  all  possible  earthly  blessings. 
With  sincere  respect,  I  remain,  my  dear  sir, 
Your  humble  servant, 

Feodor  Kister. 


Feodor  Feodorovitch  despatched  this  note  to 
its  address,  dressed  himself,  and  ordered  his  ca- 
laSh  to  be  brought  round.  Cheerful  and  care-free 
he  strode  about  his  little  chamber,  humming;  he 
even  gave  a  couple  of  skips,  twisted  a  copy-book 
of  romances  into  a  tube,  and  tied  it  up  with  blue 
ribbon.  .  .  .  The  door  opened— and  in  his  coat, 
devoid  of  epaulets,  with  his  cap  on  his  head, 
Lutchkoff  entered.  The  astounded  Kister  came 
to  a  halt  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  without  hav- 
ing finished  tying  the  bow. 

"  You    are   going   to   marry   the   Perekatoff 
girl?  "—asked  Avdyei  in  a  calm  voice. 
Kister  flared  up. 

"My  dear  sir,"— he  began:  — "on  entering  a 
room,  decent  people  take  off  their  caps  and  say 
good  morning." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  retorted  the  bully,  abruptty, 
and  removed  his  cap.—"  Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  ^Ir.  Lutchkoff.  You  ask 
me  whether  I  am  going  to  marry  INIiss  Pereka- 
toff?   Have  n't  you  read  my  letter?  " 

"  I  have  read  your  letter.  You  are  going  to  be 
married.    I  congratulate  you." 

161 


THE  BULLY 

"  I  accept  your  congratulations  and  thank  you. 
But  I  must  go." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  an  explanation  with  you, 
Feodor  Feodorovitch." 

"  Certainly,  with  pleasure,"— replied  the 
good-natured  fellow.  —  "  I  must  confess  that 
I  have  been  expecting  this  explanation.  Your 
conduct  toward  me  has  been  so  strange,  and 
I,  on  my  side,  I  think,  have  not  deserved  .... 
at  least,  I  had  no  reason  to  expect  ....  But 
will  not  you  sit  down?  Will  not  you  have  a 
pipe? 

LutchkoiF  sat  down.  Languor  was  percep- 
tible in  all  his  movements.  He  twitched  his  mous- 
tache and  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"  Tell  me,  Feodor  Feodorovitch," — he  began 
at  last:— "why  did  you  dissemble  so  long  with 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  Why  did  you  pretend  to  be  such  a  .  .  .  such 
an  immaculate  creature,  when  you  are  just  such 
another  man  as  the  rest  of  us  sinners?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.  .  .  .  Have  I  of- 
fended you  in  any  way? "  .  .  .  . 

"  You  do  not  understand  me  ...  let  us  say. 
I  will  try  to  speak  more  plainly.  Tell  me,  for 
example,  frankly:  is  it  long  that  you  have  felt 
an  inclination  for  Miss  Perekatoff ,  or  have  you 
flamed  up  suddenly  with  passion?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  not  to  talk  with  you,  Avdyei 

162 


THE  BULLY 

Ivanitch,  about  my  relations  to  JNIarya  Sergye- 
evna," — replied  Kister,  coldly. 

"  Just  so,  sir.  As  you  please.  Only,  do  me  the 
favour  to  allow  me  to  think  that  you  have  de- 
ceived me." 

Avdyei  spoke  very  slowly,  and  with  pauses 
between  his  Avords. 

"  You  cannot  think  that,  Avdyei  Ivanitch. 
You  know  me.  .  .  ." 

"I  know  you?  .  .  .  who  knows  you?  Another 
man's  soul  is  a  dark  forest,  and  wares  are  judged 
by  their  appearance.  I  know  that  you  read  Ger- 
man poems  with  great  feeling,  and  even  with 
tears  in  your  eyes;  I  know  that  you  have  hung 
various  geographical  maps  on  the  walls  of  your 
quarters ;  I  know  that  you  keep  your  person  neat ; 
I  know  this  ....  and  I  know  nothing  more." 

Kister  began  to  wax  wroth. 

"  Permit  me  to  inquire," — he  asked  at  last: — 
"what  is  the  object  of  your  visit?  You  have 
not  bowed  to  me  for  three  weeks,  and  now  you 
have  come  to  me,  apparently  with  the  intention 
of  jeering  at  me.  I  am  not  a  small  boy,  my 
dear  sir,  and  I  will  not  allow  any  one  .  .  .  ." 

"  Good  gracious," — Lutchkoff  interrupted 
him: — "good  gracious,  Feodor  Feodorovitch, 
who  would  dare  to  jeer  at  you?  On  the  contrary, 
I  came  to  you  with  a  most  humble  entreaty; 
namely :  do  me  the  favour  to  explain  to  me  your 
treatment  of  me.     Allow  me  to  ask,  was  it  not 

163 


THE  BULLY 

you  who  forcibly  made  me  acquainted  with 
the  Perekatoff  family?  Was  it  not  you  who 
assured  your  humble  servant  that  he  was  blos- 
soming out  in  soul?  Was  it  not  you,  in  con- 
clusion, who  brought  me  and  the  virtuous 
Marya  Sergyeevna  together?  Why  should  not 
I  assume  that  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  that  last 
agreeable  explanation,  of  which  you  have,  prob- 
ably, been  duly  informed?  Of  course,  a  be- 
trothed bride  tells  her  bridegroom  everything, 
especially  her  innocent  pranks.  Why  should  not 
I  think  that  it  was  thanks  to  you,  that  I  got  so 
magnificently  ridiculed?  You  have  taken  so 
much  interest  in  my  '  blossoming,'  you  see." 

Kister  paced  the  room. 

"  Hearken  to  me,  LutchkofF," — he  said  at  last: 
— "if  you  really,  without  jesting,  are  convinced 
of  what  you  say, — which,  I  must  confess,  I  do 
not  believe, — then  permit  me  to  say  to  you:  it  is 
a  sin  and  a  shame  for  you  to  interpret  my  actions 
and  my  intentions  so  offensively.  I  will  not 
defend  myself  ....  I  appeal  to  your  own  con- 
science, to  your  memory." 

"  Yes;  I  remember  that  you  were  incessantly 
whispering  with  Marya  Sergyeevna.  Over  and 
above  that,  permit  me  to  inquire  again  of  you: 
were  not  you  at  the  Perekatoffs'  after  a  certain 
conversation  with  me?  After  that  evening,  when, 
I,  like  a  fool,  blabbed  to  you,  to  my  best  friend, 
about  the  rendezvous  appointed  to  me?" 

164 


THE  BULLY 

"  What!    You  suspect  me  of  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  suspect  no  one  else  of  anything," — Avdyei 
interrupted  him  with  deadly  coldness, — "  of 
which  I  do  not  suspect  myself ;  but  I  also  have  the 
weakness  to  think  that  other  people  are  no  better 
than  I  am." 

"You  are  mistaken,"— retorted  Kister,  hotly; 
— "  other  people  are  better  than  you." 

"  On  which  I  have  the  honour  to  congratulate 
them,"  calmly  remarked  Lutchkoff :  "  but  .  .  .  ." 

"  But," — broke  in  the  irritated  Kister  in  his 
turn: — "remember,  what  expressions  you  used 
in  speaking  of  ...  .  that  meeting,  of  ...  . 
However,  these  explanations  lead  to  nothing,  I 
see.  .  .  .  Think  of  me  as  you  see  fit,  and  act  as 
you  like." 

"  There  now,  that  's  better," — remarked 
Avdyei. — "  At  last  we  have  begun  to  talk 
frankly." 

"  As  you  like!  "—repeated  Kister. 

"  I  understand  your  position,  Feodor  Feodo- 
rovitch,"- pursued  Avdyei  with  feigned  sym- 
pathy.— "  It  is  disagreeable,  really  disagreeable. 
A  man  has  played,  and  played  a  part,  and  no 
one  has  detected  the  actor  in  him;  all  of  a  sud- 
den .  .  .  ." 

"  If  I  could  think,"— Kister  interrupted  him, 
setting  his  teeth; — "  that  wounded  love  was  now 
speaking  in  you,  I  might  feel  compassion  for 
you,  I  might  excuse  you.  .  .  .  But  in  your  re- 

165 


THE  BULLY 

proaches,  in  your  calumnies,  merely  the  shriek  of 
injured  vanity  is  audible  ....  and  I  feel  no 
pity  whatever  for  you.  .  .  .  You  have  deserved 
your  fate." 

"  Phew!  my  God,  how  the  man  does  talk!  " — 
remarked  Avdyei  in  an  undertone.—"  Vanity," 
— he  went  on: — "  perhaps  so;  yes,  yes,  the  vanity 
in  me  was  deeply,  intolerably  wounded,  as  you 
say.  But  who  is  there  that  is  not  vain?  Not  you, 
surely?  Yes,  I  am  vain,  and,  for  example,  I 
will  not  permit  any  one  to  pity  me.  .  .  ." 

"  You  will  not  permit?  "—retorted  Kister, 
haughtily. — "What  an  expression,  my  dear  sir! 
Do  not  forget:  the  bond  between  us  was  broken 
by  you  yourself.  I  beg  that  you  will  treat  me  as 
you  would  a  stranger."  ' 

"  Broken!  The  bond  was  broken!  "—repeated 
Avdyei—"  understand  me:  I  have  not  bowed  to 
you,  and  have  not  been  to  see  you,  out  of  com- 
passion for  you;  for  you  will  allow  me  to  pity 
you,  if  you  pity  me !  ...  I  did  not  wish  to  place 
you  in  a  false  position,  to  awake  in  you  the 
gnawing  of  conscience.  .  .  .  You  speak  of  our 
bond  ....  as  though  you  could  remain  my 
friend  as  of  yore  after  your  marriage!  Enough 
of  that!  You  only  associated  with  me  before 
for  the  sake  of  comforting  yourself  with  your  im- 
aginary superiority.  ..." 

Avdyei's  bad  faith  had  exhausted,  had  irritated 
Kister. 

166 


THE  BULLY 

"  Let  us  put  an  end  to  this  unpleasant  conver- 
sation!"—he  exclaimed  at  last.  — "  I  must  con- 
fess, that  I  do  not  understand  why  it  has  pleased 
you  to  favour  me  with  a  call." 

"  You  do  not  understand  why  I  came  to  you?  " 
— inquired  Avdyei  with  curiosity. 

*'  I  positively  do  not  understand." 

"No-o?" 

"  No,  I  tell  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Amazing !  .  .  .  This  is  amazing !  Who 
would  have  expected  this  from  a  man  with  your 
brains?  " 

"  Well,  then,  be  so  good  as  to  explain,  in 
short.  ..." 

"  I  came,  Mr.  Kister," — said  Avdyei,  slowly 
rising  from  his  seat: — "  I  came  to  challenge  you 
to  a  duel,  do  you  understand?  I  want  to  fight 
with  you.  Ah !  You  thought  you  were  going  to 
get  rid  of  me  so  easily?  But  did  n't  you  know 
with  what  sort  of  a  man  you  had  to  deal  ?  Would 
I  permit  .  .  .  ." 

"  Very  good,  sir," — Kister  interrupted  him 
coldly  and  curtly. — "  I  accept  your  challenge. 
Be  so  good  as  to  send  your  second  to  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,"— went  on  Avdyei,  who,  like  a  cat, 
was  loath  to  release  his  victim  so  speedily; — 
*'  I  must  admit  that  I  shall  take  great  pleasure 
to-morrow  in  aiming  the  muzzle  of  my  pistol  at 
your  fair  and  ideal  face." 

"  You   are   employing   opprobrious   language 

16T 


THE  BULLY 

after  the  challenge,  I  believe,"  retorted  Kister, 
scornfully.  — "  Be  so  good  as  to  leave  the  room. 
I  am  ashamed  for  you." 

"  We  know  all  about  that  delicatesse!  .  .  . 
Ah,  Marya  Sergyeevna!  I  don't  understand 
French!" — growled  Avdyei,  as  he  put  on  his 
cap. — "  Farewell  until  our  pleasant  meeting, 
Feodor  Feodorovitch !  " 

He  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Kister  strode  up  and  down  the  room  several 
times.  His  face  was  burning,  his  breast  heaved 
high.  He  was  not  intimidated,  and  he  was  not 
angry ;  but  it  disgusted  him  to  think  what  sort  of 
a  man  he  had  once  accounted  his  friend.  He  al- 
most rejoiced  at  the  thought  of  the  duel  with 
LutchkofF.  .  .  .  To  rid  himself,  at  one  stroke,  of 
the  past,  to  leap  over  that  stone,  and  then  float 
along  on  a  tranquil  river.  ..."  Splendid!  "  he 
thought;—"  I  shall  conquer  my  happiness." 

Masha's  image  seemed  to  be  smiling  upon  him 
and  promising  victory. 

"  I  shall  not  perish!  No,  I  shall  not  perish!  " 
— he  repeated  with  a  calm,  firm  smile. 

On  the  table  lay  the  letter  to  his  mother.  .  .  . 
His  heart  contracted  within  him  for  a  moment. 
He  decided,  in  any  case,  to  delay  sending  it  off. 
There  had  taken  place*  in  Kister  that  augmenta- 
tion of  the  vital  force,  which  a  man  notices  in 
himself  in  the  face  of  danger.  He  calmly  turned 
over  in  his  mind  all  the  possible  results  of  the 

168 


THE  BULLY 

duel,  mentally  subjected  himself  and  Masha  to 
the  test  of  unhappiness  and  separation — and 
gazed  on  the  future  with  hope.  He  gave  himself 
his  word  of  honour  that  he  would  not  kill  Lutch- 
koff .  .  .  .  He  felt  irresistibly  drawn  to  Masha. 
He  hunted  up  a  second,  hastily  put  his  affairs  in 
order,  and  immediately  after  dinner  went  to  the 
PerekatofFs'.  All  the  evening  Kister  was  merry 
— too  merry,  perhaps. 

Masha  played  a  great  deal  on  the  piano,  had 
no  forebodings,  and  flirted  charmingly  with  him. 
At  first  he  felt  aggrieved  at  her  unconcern,  later 
on  he  took  that  same  unconcern  on  Masha's  part 
for  a  happy  augury — and  rejoiced  and  calmed 
down.  She  was  becoming  more  and  more  at- 
tached to  him  every  day;  the  need  for  happiness 
was  stronger  in  her  than  the  need  for  passion. 
Moreover,  Avdyei  had  weaned  her  from  all  ex- 
aggerated desires,  and  she  had  renounced  them 
gladly  and  forever.  Nenfla  JVIakarievna  loved 
Kister  like  a  son.  Sergyei  Sergyeevitch,  as  was 
his  habit,  imitated  his  wife. 

"  Farewell  until  we  meet  again," — said  Masha 
to  Kister,  as  she  escorted  him  to  the  anteroom, 
and  with  a  quiet  smile  watched  how  long  and 
tenderly  he  kissed  her  hand. 

"  Until  we  meet  again,"— replied  Feodor  Feo- 
dorovitch  with  confidence:— "  until  we  meet 
again." 

But,  when  he  had  got  half  a  verst  from  the 

169 


THE  BULLY 

Perekatoffs'  house,  he  half -rose  in  his  calash,  and 
with  confused  disquietude  began  to  seek  with 
his  eyes  the  lighted  windows.  .  .  .  Everything 
in  the  house  was  already  as  dark  as  in  the  grave. 

XI 

On  the  following  day,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  Kister's  second,  an  old,  tried  Major, 
came  to  him.  The  kind-hearted  old  man  was 
growling  and  biting  his  grey  moustache,  and 
wishing  every  sort  of  harm  to  Avdyei  Ivanovitch. 
. . .  The  calash  was  brought  round.  Kister  handed 
the  Major  two  letters,  one  to  his  mother,  the 
other  to  Masha. 

"  What  's  this  for?  " 

"  Why,  one  cannot  tell  ..." 

"  What  nonsense!  We  are  going  to  shoot  him 
hke  a  partridge." 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  better.  ..." 

The  Major,  with  vexation,  thrust  the  two  let- 
ters into  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat. 

They  set  off.  In  a  small  wood,  a  couple  of 
versts  from  the  village  of  Kirilovo,  Lutchkoff 
was  awaiting  them  with  his  second,  his  former 
friend,  the  perfumed  regimental  Adjutant.  The 
weather  was  magnificent,  the  birds  were  twitter- 
ing peaceably;  not  far  from  the  wood  a  peasant 
was  ploughing  the  land.  While  the  seconds  were 
measuring  off  the  distance,  and  fixing  the  bar- 

170 


THE  BULLY 

riers,  inspecting  and  loading  the  pistols,  the 
antagonists  did  not  even  glance  at  each  other. 
Kister,  with  a  care-free  mien,  paced  to  and  fro, 
twirling  a  branch  which  he  had  broken  off; 
Avdyei  stood  motionless,  with  folded  arms  and 
frowning  brows.     The  decisive  moment  arrived. 

"Begin,  gentlemen!" 

Kister  walked  swiftly  to  the  barrier,  but  be- 
fore he  had  taken  five  steps  more,  Avdyei  fired. 
Kister  quivered,  advanced  another  step,  reeled, 
bowed  his  head.  .  .  .  His  knees  gave  way  be- 
neath him  ....  he  fell  on  the  grass  like  a  sack. 
The  Major  rushed  to  him.  .  .  . 

"Is  it  possible? "  .  .  .  .  whispered  the  dying 
man. 

Avdyei  stepped  up  to  the  man  he  had  killed. 
On  his  gloomy  and  emaciated  visage,  fierce,  ex- 
asperated pity  was  expressed.  .  .  .  He  glanced 
at  the  Adjutant  and  the  Major,  bent  his  head 
like  a  culprit,  silently  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  at  a  foot-pace  straight  to  the  quarters  of  the 
Colonel. 

Masha  ....  is  alive  at  the  present  day. 


171 


PYETUSHKOFF 

(1847) 


I 


PYETUSHKOFF 


IN  the  year  182.  .,  in  the  town  of  O***,  dwelt 
Lieutenant  Ivan  Afanasievitch  Pyetushkoff. 
He  was  descended  from  poor  parents,  had  been 
left  a  full  orphan  at  the  age  of  five  years,  and  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  guardian.  Thanks  to 
his  guardian,  he  turned  out  to  have  no  property 
whatsoever;  he  got  along  as  best  he  might.  He 
was  of  medium  height  and  stooped  somewhat; 
he  had  a  thin  face  covered  with  freckles,  but  quite 
pleasant,  notwithstanding;  dark  chestnut  hair, 
grey  eyes,  and  a  timid  look;  numerous  wrinkles 
covered  his  low  forehead.  The  whole  of  Pye- 
tushkoiF's  life  had  passed  in  an  extremely  mo- 
notonous manner ;  at  the  age  of  forty  he  was  still 
as  young  and  inexperienced  as  a  child.  He 
shunned  his  acquaintances,  and  treated  those  on 
whose  destiny  he  might  have  an  influence  very 
gently.  .  .  . 

People  who  are  condemned  by  Fate  to  a  mo- 
notonous and  cheerless  life  often  acquire  divers 
habits  and  requirements.  Pyetushkoff  was  fond 
of  eating  a  fresh,  white  roll  of  a  morning  with 
his  tea.    Without  that  dainty  he  could  not  exist. 

175 


PYETUSHKOFF 


And  behold,  one  morning,  his  servant,  Onisim, 
instead  of  the  roll,  presented  to  him  on  a  plate 
three  dark-reddish  rusks.^  PyetushkoiF  immedi- 
ately, with  some  indignation,  asked  his  servant 
what  was  the  meaning  of  that. 

"  The  rolls  were  all  gone," — answered  Onisim, 
a  native-born  Petersburgian,  who  by  the  strange 
play  of  Fate,  had  been  carried  to  the  very  wilds  of 
southern  Russia. 

"  Impossible!  "—exclaimed  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch. 

"They  were  all  gone," — repeated  Onisim; — 
"  the  Marshal  of  the  Nobility  has  a  breakfast  to- 
day, so  they  all  went  there,  you  know." 

Onisim  swept  his  hand  through  the  air  and 
thrust  forward  his  right  leg.  * 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  walked  through  the  room, 
dressed  himself  and  set  out  in  person  for  the 
baker's  shop.  The  only  establishment  of  that 
sort  in  O***  had  been  set  up  ten  years  previously 
by  a  newcomer,  a  German,  had  speedily  thriven, 
and  was  still  flourishing  at  the  present  time, 
under  the  management  of  his  widow,  a  corpu- 
lent woman. 

Pyetushkoff  knocked  on  the  window.  The  fat 
woman  thrust  her  unhealthily-puffy  and  sleepy 
face  through  the  hinged  pane. 

"  Please  give  me  a  white  roll,"— said  Pyetush- 
koff, pleasantly. 

^  Zwieback. — Translatoh. 

176 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  We  are  out  of  rolls,"— squeaked  the  fat 
woman. 

"  You  have  no  rolls?  " 

"  No." 

"  How  is  this?— good  gracious.  I  buy  a  roll 
from  you  every  day  and  pay  promptly." 

The  woman  stared  at  him  in  silence. — "  Take 
a  cracknel," — she  said  at  last,  with  a  yawn, — "  or 
a  papliukha."  ^ 

"  I  won't,"— said  PyetushkoiF. 

"  As  you  like," — mumbled  the  woman,  and 
slammed  to  the  pane. 

Violent  irritation  seized  upon  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch.  He  retreated  in  perplexity  to  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  and  gave  himself  up  wholly, 
like  a  child,  to  his  displeasure. 

"  Sir!  "...  a  fairly  agreeable  feminine  voice 
rang  out.  —  "  Sir!  " 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  raised  his  eyes.  A  young 
girl  of  seventeen  was  peering  forth  through  the 
pane,  and  holding  in  her  hand  a  white  roll.  She 
had  a  round,  plump  face,  small  brown  eyes,  a 
somewhat  snub  nose,  reddish-blond  hair,  and 
magnificent  shoulders.  Her  features  were  ex- 
pressive of  good-nature,  indolence  and  uncon- 
cern. 

"  Here  is  a  roll  for  you,  sir,"— she  said,  laugh- 
ing;—" I  was  going  to  take  it  for  myself,  but  if 
you  wish,  I  will  give  it  up  to  you." 

^  A  flat  cake.  —Translator. 

177 


PYETUSHKOFF 

**  I  thank  you  most  sincerely.  Permit  me, 
ma'am.  ..." 

PyetushkofF  began  to  fumble  in  his  pocket. 

"  Never  mind;  it  is  n't  necessary,  sir.  Eat,  and 
may  health  be  yours." 

She  closed  the  pane. 

PyetushkoiF  returned  home  in  a  thoroughly 
agreeable  frame  of  mind. 

*'  See  there  now,  thou  didst  not  get  a  roll," — 
he  said  to  his  Onisim, — "  but  here,  I  have  got 
one;  seest  thou?  .  .  .  ." 

Onisim  grinned  sourly. 

That  same  day,  in  the  evening,  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch,  as  he  was  undressing,  asked  his  servant : 

"  Tell  me,  my  good  fellow,  please,  what  girl  is 
that  yonder  at  the  baker's,  hey?  "  , 

Onisim  glanced  aside  in  a  rather  gloomy  way, 
and  answered: — "But  why  do  you  want  to 
know? " 

"  Because,"— said  Pyetushkoff,  taking  off  his 
boots  with  his  own  hands. 

"  She  's  pretty,  certainly!  "—remarked  Onisim, 
condescendingly. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  she  is  n't  bad-looking  .  .  .  ."  said 
Ivan  Afanasievitch,  also  glancing  aside.  "And 
what  is  her  name— dost  thou  know?  " 

"  Vasilisa." 

"  And  art  thou  acquainted  with  her?  '* 

Onisim  made  no  answer  for  a  while. 

"  I  am,  sir." 

178 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Pyetushkoff  was  on  the  point  of  opening  his 
mouth,  but  turned  over  on  his  other  side  and 
went  to  sleep.  Onisim  withdrew  into  the  ante- 
room, took  a  pinch  of  snuiF,  and  twisted  his  head 
round. 

The  next  day,  early  in  the  morning,  Pyetush- 
koff ordered  his  things  for  dressing  to  be  given 
him.  Onisim  brought  Ivan  Afanasievitch's 
everyday  coat — an  old  coat  of  grass-green  hue,^ 
with  huge,  faded  epaulets.  Pyetushkoff  stared 
long  and  silently  at  Onisim,  then  ordered  him 
to  get  his  new  coat.  Onisim  obeyed,  not  with- 
out surprise.  Pyetushkoff  dressed  himself,  and 
carefully  drew  on  his  hands  wash-leather  gloves. 

"  Thou  needest  not  go  to  the  baker's  shop  to- 
day, my  good  fellow," — said  he.  "  I  will  go 
myself  ....  it  is  on  my  way." 

"  I  obey,  sir,"— replied  Onisim,  as  abruptly  as 
though  some  one  had  punched  him  in  the  back. 

Pyetushkoff  set  forth,  reached  the  baker's  shop, 
and  knocked  at  the  little  window.  The  fat 
woman  opened  the  pane. 

"  A  roll,  if  you  please," — said  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch,  slowly. 

The  fat  woman  stuck  out  her  arm,  bare  to  the 
very  shoulder,  and  resembling  a  haunch  rather 
than  an  arm,  and  thrust  the  hot  bread  straight 
under  his  nose. 

*  The  coats  of  officers  in  the  majority  of  infantry  regiments  are  dark 
green.  Dandified  officers  try  to  get  the  shade  as  dark  as  possible. — 
Translator. 

179 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Ivan  Afanaslevitch  stood  still  for  a  while  in 
front  of  the  little  window,  paced  up  and  down 
the  street  a  couple  of  times,  cast  a  glance  into  the 
courtyard,  and,  ashamed,  at  last,  of  his  childish- 
ness, returned  home  with  the  roll  in  his  hand.  All 
day  long  he  felt  awkward,  and  even  in  the  even- 
ing, contrary  to  his  wont,  he  did  not  enter  into 
conversation  with  Onisim. 

On  the  following  morning,  also,  Onisim  went 
again  for  the  roll. 

II 

Several  weeks  passed.  Ivan  Afanasievitch  had 
totally  forgotten  Vasilisa,  and  chatted  in  friendly 
wise  with  his  servant  as  of  yore.  One  fine 
morning,  Mr.  Bublitzyn  dropped  in  to  see  him, 
— an  easy -mannered  and  very  arriiable  young 
man.  Truth  to  tell,  he  sometimes  did  not  know 
what  he  was  saying,  and  was,  as  the  saying  is, 
all  awry,  but,  nevertheless,  bore  the  reputation 
of  being  a  very  agreeable  companion.  He 
smoked  a  great  deal,  with  feverish  eagerness,  ele- 
vating his  brows,  drawing  in  his  chest— smoked 
with  a  careworn  expression,  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  with  an  aspect  which  seemed  to  say, 
"  Let  me  take  just  one  more,  last  whiif,  and 
I  will  immediately  tell  you  an  unexpected  bit  of 
news  " ;  he  even  bellowed,  sometimes,  and  waved 
his  hand,  hastily  sucking  at  his  pipe,  as  though 

180 


PYETUSHKOFF 

he  had  suddenly  remembered  something  ex- 
tremely amusing  or  important,  opened  his  mouth, 
emitted  rings  of  smoke,  and  uttered  the  most 
commonplace  remarks,  and  sometimes  maintained 
utter  silence. 

After  chatting  awhile  with  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch  about  the  neighbours,  about  horses,  about 
the  young  daughters  of  the  landed  proprietors, 
and  other  edifying  subjects,  Mr.  Bubhtzyn  sud- 
denly puckered  up  his  eyes,  rumpled  up  his  crest, 
and,  with  a  sly  smile,  stepped  up  to  a  remarkably 
dim  mirror,  the  only  adornment  of  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch's  room. 

"  Well,  now,  to  tell  the  truth,"— he  enunciated, 
stroking  his  dark-brown  side- whiskers,— "  we 
have  here  such  women  of  the  burgher  class  as 
would  put  to  shame  your  Venus  of  Mendintzi. 
.  .  .  For  example,  have  you  seen  Vasilisa  the 
baker's  girl? "  .  .  .  .  Mr.  Bublitzyn  stretched 
himself. 

PyetushkofF  started. 

"But  why  do  I  ask  you?  "—pursued  Bubh- 
tzyn, disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,— "you  're 
such  a  queer  man,  Ivan  Afanasievitch!— God 
knows  what  you  do  take  an  interest  in,  Ivan 
Afanasievitch!" 

"  In  the  same  things  as  you  do,"— said  Pye- 
tushkofF, not  without  irritation,  and  in  a  drawl. 

"  Well,  no,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  no.  .  .  .  Why 
do  you  say  that?  " 

181 


PYETUSHKOFF 


"  But  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  the  very  idea,  Ivan  Afanasievitch! " 

"But  why?    Why?" 

Bublitzyn  set  his  pipe  in  one  corner,  and  began 
to  inspect  his  not  entirely  handsome  boots.  Pye- 
tushkofF  felt  embarrassed. 

"  Because,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  because," — 
went  on  Bublitzyn,  as  though  sparing  him. — 
"  But  as  for  Vasilisa,  the  baker's  girl,  I  must  in- 
form you  that  she  's  very,  ve-ry  pretty  .... 
ve-ry." 

Strange  to  relate!  Ivan  Afanasievitch  felt 
something  akin  to  jealousy.  He  began  to  fidget 
about  on  his  chair,  he  burst  out  laughing  apropos 
of  nothing,  he  suddenly  blushed,  yawned,  and  as  he 
yawned,  twisted  his  lower  jaw  somewhat.  Bub- 
litzyn smoked  three  pipes  more  and  departed. 
Ivan  Afanasievitch  walked  to  the  window,  sighed, 
and  ordered  his  man  to  give  him  a  drink. 

Onisim  placed  a  glass  of  kvas  *  on  the  table, 
cast  a  surly  glance  at  his  master,  leaned  his  back 
against  the  door,  and  hung  his  head. 

"  What  art  thou  thinking  about?  "—inquired 
his  master,  affectionately,  and  not  without  trepi- 
dation. 

"  What  am  I  thinking  about?  "—retorted 
Onisim;— "  what  am  I  thinking  about?  .  .  .  . 
Always  about  you." 

'  A  sourish  small  beer  made  from  sour  black,  rye  bread,  or  rye  meal, 
by  pouring  on  water  and  fermenting. — Translator. 

182 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"About  me?" 


"  About  you,  of  course.' 

"  But  what  is  it  that  thou  art  thinking? 

"Why,  this  is  what  I  am  thinking."  (Here 
Onisim  took  a  pinch  of  snufF.)  "  Shame  on  you, 
sir,  shame  on  you." 

"  What  have  I  to  be  ashamed  of  ?  "  .  .  .  . 

"  What  have  you  to  be  ashamed  of?  ...  . 
Why,  just  look  at  Mr.  Bubh'tzyn,  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch.  ...  Is  n't  he  a  dashing  fine  fellow, 
pray? 

"  I  don't  understand  thee,  my  good  fellow." 

"  You  don't  understand?  ....  Yes,  you  do 
understand  me." 

Onisim  paused. 

"  Mr.  Bublitzyn  is  a  real  gentleman,  as  a  gen- 
tleman should  be.  But  what  are  you,  Ivan 
Afanasievitch,  what  are  you,  pray?" 

"  Well,  I  am  a  gentleman  also." 

"  A  gentleman,  a  gentleman  .  .  ."  retorted 
Onisim,  flying  into  a  passion.—"  Do  you  call 
yourself  a  gentleman?  You  're  simply  a  wet 
hen,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  good  gracious!  Here 
you  sit  by  yourself  the  livelong  day  .  .  .  much 
you  will  hatch  out!  You  don't  play  cards, 
you    don't   associate   with   the   gentry,    and   as 

for  .  .  .  ." 

Onisim  waved  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. 

"  Well,  anyhow  ....  I  think  thou  art  too 

183 


PYETUSHKOFF 

.  .  .  ."  said  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  clutching  at 
his  Turkish  pipe  in  confusion. 

"  Too  what,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  too  what? 
Judge  for  yourself.  Here  now,  about  that 
Vasilisa  again.  .  .  .  Well,  and  why  should  n't 
you.  .  .  ." 

"  But  what  art  thou  thinking  about,  Onisim?  " 
— PyetushkofF  interrupted  him  sadly. 

"  I  know  what  I  'm  thinking.  What  then? 
God  bless  us!  But  how  can  you?  Good  gra- 
cious, Ivan  Afanasievitch,  you  sit  by  yourself. . . 
Certainly  you.  .  .  ." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Come,  come,  please  hold  thy  tongue," — he 
said  briskly,  and  as  though  challenging  Onisim 
with  his  eyes. — "  I  also,  thou  knowest  ...  I  ...  . 
what  dost  thou  mean,  in  fact?  Thou  hadst  bet- 
ter help  me  to  dress." 

Onisim  slowly  pulled  off  Ivan  Afanasievitch's 
greasy  Tatar  dressing-gown,  with  paternal  sad- 
ness gazed  at  his  master,  shook  his  head,  got  him 
into  his  tight-fitting  coat,  and  set  to  beating  him 
on  the  back  with  a  dust-brush. 

PyetushkoiF  left  the  house,  and  after  wan- 
dering for  a  short  time  through  the  crooked 
streets  of  the  town,  found  himself  in  front  of 
the  baker's  shop.  A  strange  smile  played  on 
his  lips. 

Before  he  had  time  to  cast  a  second  glance 
at  the  too-familiar  establishment,  the  wicket-gate 

184 


PYETUSHKOFF 

suddenly  flew  open,  and  VasiKsa  ran  out,  with  a 
yellow  kerchief  on  her  head,  and  a  short,  wadded 
jacket  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  after  the  Rus- 
sian fashion.^ 

"  Whither  dost  thou  deign  to  go,  my  dear?  "  ^ 

Vasilisa  cast  a  quick  glance  at  him,  burst  out 
laughing,  turned  away,  and  covered  her  lips  with 
her  hand. 

"  To  make  purchases,  I  suppose?  " — inquired 
Ivan  Afanasievitch,  shifting  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  How  curious  you  are,"— retorted  Vasilisa. 

"Why  do  you  call  me  curious?" — said  Pye- 
tushkofF,  hastily  brandishing  his  arms.—"  Quite 
the  contrary,  I  ....  I  just — you  know,"— he 
added  hurriedly,  as  though  those  four  words 
thoroughly  explained  his  meaning. 

"  And  did  j^ou  enjoy  my  roll?  " 

"  I  certainly  did,  ma'am,"— replied  Pyetush- 
kofF: — "  it  gave  me  particular  satisfaction." 

Vasih'sa  continued  to  walk  along  and  laugh. 

"  The  weather  is  pleasant  to-day," — pursued 
Ivan  Afanasievitch: — "do  you  often  go  for  a 
stroll?" 

"  I  take  a  stroll  sometimes,  sir.'* 

"  Akh,  how  I  wish  that  I  .  .  .  ." 

"What,  sir?" 

The  young  girls  with  us  pronounce  the  words 
"  what,  sir?  "  in  a  very  strange,  rather  peculiarly 

^  The  jacket  is  called,  literally,  a  "  soul  warmer."     "  Russian  fash- 
ion "  means  with  the  sleeves  hanging  unused.— Translator. 
2  Literally,  "  dear  little  dove."— Translator. 

185 


PYETUSHKOFF 


sharp  and  quick  manner.  .  .  .  Partridges  call 
thus  at  dawn. 

"  Could  I  walk  with  you,  ma'am,  you  know, 
ma'am  ....  outside  the  town,  perhaps.  .  .  ." 

"  How  is  that  possible?  " 

"Why  is  n't  it  possible?" 

"  Akh,  how  you  do  go  on,  really!  " 

"  But  permit  me.  .  .  ." 

At  this  point  there  came  hopping  alongside  of 
them  a  petty  merchant  with  a  goat's  beard  and 
fingers  spread  out  in  the  shape  of  hooks  to  keep 
his  sleeves  from  falling  down,  clad  in  a  long- 
skirted  bluish  kaftan,  and  a  warm  wadded  cap 
with  a  visor,  which  resembled  a  swollen  water- 
melon. Pyetushkoff,  out  of  decorum,  dropped 
a  little  behind  Vasilisa,  but  immediately  caught 
up  with  her  again. 

"  Well,  and  how  is  to  be  about  the  stroll, 
ma'am? " 

Vasilisa  cast  a  roguish  glance  at  him,  and  again 
began  to  smile. 

"  Do  you  belong  here  in  town?  " 

"  I  do,  ma'am." 

Vasilisa  passed  her  hand  over  her  hair,  and 
walked  more  slowly.  Ivan  Afanasievitch  smiled, 
and  inwardly  fainting  with  terror,  bent  a  little 
to  one  side,  and  with  a  tremulous  arm,  encircled 
the  beauty's  waist. 

Vasilisa  shrieked. 

*  *  Stop  that,  you  impudent  thing,  on  the  street." 

186 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  Come,  come,  come,  't  Is  nothing,"— muttered 
Ivan  Afanasievitch. 

"  Stop  it,  I  tell  you,  in  the  street.  .  .  .  Don't 
insult  me." 

"  A  ....  a  ... .  akh,  what  a  spit-fire  you  are," 
— said  PyetushkofF,  reproachfully,  and  blushed 
to  his  very  ears. 

Vasilisa  halted. 

"  Go  your  way,  sir,  go.  ..." 

PyetushkoiF  obeyed.  He  went  home,  sat  for 
a  whole  hour  motionless  on  a  chair,  and  did  not 
even  smoke  his  pipe.  At  last  he  got  a  sheet  of 
greyish  paper,  mended  his  pen,  and  after  long 
reflection,  he  wrote  the  following  letter: 

Dear  Madam, 

Vasilisa  Timofyeevna: 

Not  being  by  nature  an  offensive  man,  how  could  I 
cause  you  unpleasantness.  But  if  I  really  am  culpable 
toward  you,  then,  namely,  I  say  to  you,  the  hints  of 
Mr.  Bublitzyn  prompted  me  to  that  which  I  had  not 
in  the  least  expected. 

However,  I  respectfully  request  you  not  to  be  angry 
with  me.  I  am  a  susceptible  man,  and  I  am  sensitive 
to  every  caress  and  am  grateful.  Be  not  angry  with 
me,  Vasilisa  Timofyeevna,  I  entreat  you  most  hum- 
bly.    However  with  my  respects,  I  remain. 

Your  humble  servant, 

Ivan  Pyetushkoff. 

Onisim  carried  this  letter  to  its  address. 

187 


PYETUSHKOFF 


III 


Two  weeks  passed.  .  .  .  Onisim  went  to  the 
baker's  shop  every  morning,  according  to  his 
custom.  And  lo!  one  day,  Vasih'sa  ran  out  to 
meet  him. 

"  Good  morning,  Onisim  Sergyeevitch." 

Onisim  assumed  a  surly  aspect  and  said  an- 
grily:—"  Morning." 

"  Why  don't  you  ever  drop  in  to  see  us,  Onisim 
Sergyeevitch?  " 

Onisim  glared  morosely  at  her. 

"  Why  should  I  drop  in?  Thou  wilt  not  treat 
me  to  tea,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  will,  Onisim,  I  will  give  you  tea.  Only 
come.    And  with  rum." 

Onisim  gave  a  slow  smile. 

"  Well,  as  thou  wilt,  in  that  case." 

"  But  when,  my  dear  man,  when?  " 

"When.  .  .  .  Ekh,  thou  .  .  .  ." 

"  This  evening,  does  that  suit  you?  Do  drop 
in." 

"  I  will,  if  you  like,"— returned  Onisim,  and 
trudged  off  homeward  with  a  lazy  and  swagger- 
ing gait. 

That  same  day,  in  the  evening,  in  a  tiny  cham- 
ber, by  the  side  of  a  bed  covered  with  a  striped 
down  quilt,  at  a  clumsy  table,  sat  Onisim  oppo- 
site   Vasilisa.      A    huge    dimly-yellow   samovar 

188 


PYETUSHKOFF 

stood  hissing  on  the  table;  a  pot  of  geranium 
reared  itself  in  front  of  the  small  window;  in 
one  corner,  near  the  door,  stood  sideways  a  hide- 
ous trunk,  with  a  tiny  padlock;  on  the  trunk  lay 
a  porous  heap  of  various  old  odds  and  ends;  on 
the  walls  dirty  little  pictures  made  black  spots. 
Onisim  and  Vasilisa  were  drinking  tea  in  silence, 
as  they  gazed  into  each  other's  face,  turned 
their  lumps  of  sugar  long  in  their  hands,  as 
though  reluctant  to  nibble  them,^  half -closed 
their  eyes,  blinked,  and  drew  the  yellowish  boil- 
ing water  through  their  teeth  with  a  whistling 
noise.  At  last  they  drank  the  samovar  dry, 
turned  upside  down  ^  their  round  teacups  with 
inscriptions,— on  one:  "To  Gratification,"  and 
on  the  other:  "  It  innocently  Pierced,"— grunted 
with  satisfaction,  mopped  away  the  perspira- 
tion, and  began  gradually  to  enter  into  con- 
versation. 

"  What  's  your  master  like,  Onisim  Sergye- 
itch?  "...  inquired  Vasilisa,  and  did  not  finish 
her  sentence. 

"  What  's  my  master  like? "...  returned 
Onisim  and  propped  his  head  on  his  hand.    "  'T  is 

1  Poor  Russians,  especfelly  of  the  peasant  and  petty  burgher  class, 
nibble  their  sugar,  and  so  economically  sweeten  their  mouths  instead 
of  the  beverage.  But  Russians  of  all  classes  are  fond  of  this  method, 
without  regard  to  economy.— Translator. 

2  To  indicate  that  they  had  finished.  Russian  lower-class  etiquette, 
enjoins  that  the  cup  be  thus  reversed  as  a  sign  that  the  invitation  to 
"  have  another  cup  "  is  definitively  declined,  and  tliat  further  polite 
urging  (also  a  point  of  etiquette),  is  useless. — Translator. 

189 


PYETUSHKOFF 


well  known  what  he  is  like.     But  what  do  you 
want  to  know  for?  " 

I  just  asked,  sir,  at  random,"  replied  Vasilisa. 
Why,  you  know,  he  .  .  ."  (here  Onisim 
grinned) :— "  you  know,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  you, 
I  believe." 

"  He  did,  sir." 

Onisim  wagged  his  head  with  an  uncommonly 
self-satisfied  air. 

"  There  now,  there  now," — he  said  hoarsely, 
and  not  without  a  smile. — "  Well,  and  what  did 
he  write  to  you?  " 

"  Why,  various  things.  '  I,  Madam  Vasilisa 
Timofyeevna,'  says  he,  '  am  thus  and  so;  did  n't 
mean  anything ;  you  are  not  to  think ;  you  are  not 
to  feel  offended,  madam ' ;  and  lots  more  of  the 
same  sort  he  wrote.  .  .  .  Well," — she  added, 
after  a  brief  pause — "  and  what  sort  of  a  man 
is  he?" 

He  exists," — replied  Onisim,  indifferently. 
Has  he  a  bad  temper?  " 
The  idea!    No,  he  has  n't.    Well,  and  do  you 
like  him? " 

Vasilisa  dropped  her  eyes  and  laughed  in  her 
sleeve. 

a. 

Come,"— growled  Onisim. 
But  what  do  you  want  to  know  for,  Onisim 
Sergyeitch? " 

Come,  now,  speak,  I  tell  you." 

What  's  your  master  like?  "—repeated  Vasi- 

190 


<< 


PYETUSHKOFF 

lisa,  at  last.    "  Of  course  .  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  well,  and 
he  's  so  ...  .  you  know  how  it  is  yourself.  ..." 

"  How  can  I  help  knowing? " — remarked 
Onisim,  pompously. 

"  For  of  course  you  are  aware,  Onisim  Ser- 
gyeitch  .  .  .  ." 

Vasilisa  was  obviously  becoming  agitated. 

"Do  you  say  to  him,  to  your  master  that  is: 
'  I  am  not  angry  with  him,'  says  she,  *  and  here,' 
says  she  .  .  .  ." 

She  began  to  stammer.  .  . 

"  We  understand,  ma'am,"— returned  Onisim, 
and  slowly  rose  from  his  chair.—"  We  under- 
stand, ma'am.     Thanks  for  your  hospitahty." 

"  I  hope  you  will  favour  me  again  with  your 
company." 

"  Well,  all  right,  all  right." 

Onisim  walked  to  the  door.  The  fat  woman 
made  her  appearance  in  the  room. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Onisim  Sergyeitch?  "—she 
said  in  a  sing-song  tone. 

*'  How  do  you  do,  Praskovya  Ivanovna?  "—he 
replied,  also  in  a  sing-song  tone. 

Both  stood  still  awhile  facing  each  other. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Praskovya  Ivanovna,"— 
said  Onisim  with  his  drawl. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Onisim  Sergyeitch,"— she 
replied,  also  drawling. 

Onisim  returned  home.  His  master  was  lying 
on  his  bed,  and  staring  at  the  ceiling. 

191 


PYETUSHKOFF 


"  Where  hast  thou  been?  " 

"Where  have  I  been?"  .  .  .  (Onisim  had  a 
habit  of  reproachfully  repeating  the  last  words 
of  every  question.) —"I  have  been  about  your 
business." 

"What  business?" 

"  And  don't  you  know?  ...  I  have  been  to 
Vasilisa's." 

PyetushkofF  winked  his  eyes,  and  wriggled 
on  the  bed. 

"  That  's  exactly  how  it  is,"— remarked  Oni- 
sim, and  coolly  took  a  pinch  of  snuff:—"  that  's 
exactly  how  it  is,  always  like  that.  Vasilisa  sends 
her  compliments  to  you." 

"  You  don't  say  so?  " 

"  You  don't  say  so?  That  's  exactly  how  it  is. 
You  don't  say  so !  .  .  .  .  She  bade  me  say, '  Why 
don't  I  see  him? '  says  she.  '  Why  does  n't  he 
come? '  says  she." 

"  Well,  and  what  didst  thou  say?  " 

"  What  did  I  say?  I  said  to  her:  '  Thou  art 
silly,' — I  said  to  her;— 'will  such  folks  come  to 
see  thee?  No,  do  thou  come  thyself,'— I  said 
to  her." 

"  Well,  and  what  did  she  say?  " 

"  What  did  she  say?  ....  She  ....  no- 
thing." 

"  But  what  dost  thou  mean  by  nothing?  " 

"  Everybody  knows  what  nothing  means." 

Pyetushkoff  maintained  silence  for  a  space. 
Well,  and  will  she  come? " 

192 


it 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Onisim  wagged  his  head. 

"  Come!  ....  You   're  in  an  awful  hurry, 
sir.    Come!  ....  No,  but  just  you  .  .  .  ." 

"  Why,    but   thou    saidst   thyself   that  .... 
you  know  .  .  .  ." 

"  Much  I  did!  " 

Again  Pyetushkoff  remained  silent  awhile. 

"  Well,  but  what  is  the  state  of  affairs,  my 
good  fellow?  " 

"  What   is   the   state   of   affairs?  ....  You 
ought  to  know  best:  you  're  the  master." 

"  Well,  no,  what  is  there  .  .  .  ." 

Onisim  rocked  himself  to  and  fro  in  self-satis- 
fied fashion. 

"Do  you  know  Praskovya  Ivanovna? " — he 
asked  at  last. 

No.    What  Praskovya  Ivanovna?  " 
The  bake-shop  woman?  " 
Ah,  yes,  the  bake-shop  woman.    I  have  seen 
her:  a  very  fat  woman." 

"  A  woman  of  importance.     She  's  your  own 
aunt  by  blood,  you  know." 

"My  aunt?" 

"  Why,  did  n't  you  know  that? " 

"  No,  I  did  not." 

"Ekh!  .  .  .  ." 

Out  of  respect  to  his  master,  Onisim  did  not 
utter  the  whole  of  his  thought. 

"  There  's  a  person  with  whom  you  should  get 
acquainted." 

"  All  right.    I  have  no  objection." 

193 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Onisim  gazed  approvingly  at  Ivan  Afanasle- 
vitch. 

"  But  why,  in  particular,  ought  I  to  make  her 
acquaintance?  " — inquired  Pyetushkoff. 

"Just  see  there,  now!  "—returned  Onisim, 
coolly. 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  rose,  paced  the  room, 
halted  in  front  of  the  window,  and,  without  turn- 
ing his  head,  enunciated  with  some  confusion: 

"Om'sim!" 

"  What,  sir? " 

"  And  won't  I  feel  rather  awkward,  thou 
knowest,  with  a  woman,  hey? " 

"  You  know  best." 

"  However,  I  only  asked  the  question  at  ran- 
dom. My  comrades  may  notice;  it  's  always 
rather  ....  However,  I  will  think  the  matter 
over.  Give  me  my  pipe.  .  .  And  so  she,"— he 
added  after  a  brief  pause: — "  Vasilisa,  I  mean, 
says  .  .  .  ." 

But  Onisim  did  not  wish  to  prolong  the  con- 
versation and  assumed  his  habitual  glum  aspect. 


IV 


Ivan  Afanasievitch's  acquaintance  with  Pras- 
kovya  Ivanovna  began  in  the  following  manner. 
Five  days  after  the  conversation  with  Onisim, 
Pyetushkoff  set  out  one  evening  for  the  baker's 
shop.—*'  Come,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  opened 

194 


PYETUSHKOFF 

the  creaking  wicket-gate, — "  I  don't  know  what 
will  happen.  .  .  ." 

He  mounted  the  porch,  and  opened  the  door. 
A  very  large,  crested  hen  darted  straight  under 
his  feet,  with  a  deafening  shriek,  and  for  a  long 
time  thereafter  continued  to  scurry  agitatedly 
about  the  yard.  The  surprised  face  of  the  fat 
woman  gazed  from  the  window  of  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  Ivan  Afanasievitch  smiled  and 
nodded  his  head.  The  woman  saluted  him. 
Clutching  his  hat  tightly,  Ivan  Afanasievitch 
approached  her.  Praskovya  Ivanovna  was,  evi- 
dently, expecting  an  honoured  guest;  all  the 
hooks  of  her  gown  were  fastened.  PyetushkofF 
seated  himself  on  a  chair;  Praskovya  Ivanovna 
seated  herself  opposite  him. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,  Praskovya  Ivanovna, 
chiefly  with  regard  to  .  .  .  ."  said  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch at  last— and  fell  silent.  His  Hps  twitched 
convulsively. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  dear  little  father," — 
replied  Praskovya  Ivanovna  in  a  sing-song  tone, 
and  bowing.    "  I  am  glad  to  see  any  visitor." 

Pyetushkoff  summoned  up  a  little  courage. 

'*  I  have  long  wished,  you  know,  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance,  Prasko- 
vya Ivanovna." 

"  Much  obliged,  Ivan  Afanasievitch." 

A  pause  ensued.  Praskovya  Ivanovna 
mopped   her   face   with   a   gay-coloured   hand- 

195 


PYETUSHKOFF 

kerchief;  Ivan  Afanasievitch  stared  somewhere 
to  one  side  with  great  attention.  Both  were 
decidedly  embarrassed.  However,  in  merchant 
and  petty  burgher  circles,  where  even  old  friends 
do  not  meet  without  queer  angular  grimaces, 
a  certain  constraint  in  the  manners  of  guest 
and  host  not  only  does  not  strike  any  one  as 
strange,  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  regarded  as 
perfectly  fitting  and  indispensable,  especially  at 
a  first  interview.  Praskovya  Ivanovna  was 
pleased  with  Pyetushkoff.  He  bore  himself 
decorously  and  properly,  and  nevertheless  he  was 
a  man  with  official  rank ! 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  your  rolls,  dear  little 
mother,  Praskovya  Ivanovna,"— he  said  to  her. 

"  Jist  so,  sir,  jist  so,  sir."  * 

"  They  are  very  good,  you  know,  very." 

"Eat,  dear  little  father,  and  may  health  be 
yours,  eat.     It  gives  me  great  pleasure." 

"  Even  in  Moscow  I  never  ate  such  good  ones." 

"  Jist  so,  sir,  jist  so,  sir." 

Again  silence  descended. 

"  But  tell  me,  Praskovya  Ivanovna," — began 
Ivan  Afanasievitch: — "I  believe  you  have  a  niece 
hving  with  you?  " 

"  My  own  niece,  dear  little  father." 

"  Well,  .  .  .  how  comes  she  to  be  with  you?  " 

*'  She  is  an  orphan,  and  I  support  her,  sir." 

"  And  she  is  a  good  worker?  " 

"  She  is,  dear  little  father,  she  is.    Such  a  good 

196 


PYETUSHKOFF 

worker  that  ih  ....  ih  ....  ih !..  .  Certainly,  sir, 
certainly,  sir! " 

Ivan  Af anasievitch  considered  it  decorous  not 
to  enlarge  further  on  the  subject  of  the  niece. 

"  What  sort  of  a  bird  have  you  in  that  cage, 
Praskovya  Ivanovna?  " 

"  Why,  God  only  knows.    'T  is  a  bird." 

"  Hm!  Well,  good-bye,  Praskovya  Ivanovna.'* 

"  Good-bye,  your  Well-Born.  I  hope  you  will 
favour  us  again.    Come  and  drink  tea." 

*'  It  will  give  me  particular  pleasure,  Prasko- 
vya Ivanovna." 

PyetushkofF  withdrew.  On  the  porch  he  en- 
countered Vasilisa.     She  burst  out  laughing. 

"Whither  are  you  going,  my  dear  little  dove?  " 
—said  Ivan  Af  anasievitch,  not  without  auda- 
city. 

"  Come,  stop  that,  stop  that,  you  jester;  what 
a  tease  you  are!  " 

"  He,  he  1    And  did  you  get  my  note?  " 

Vasilisa  hid  the  lower  part  of  her  face  in  her 
sleeve  and  made  no  reply. 

"  And  you  are  not  angry  with  me? " 

"Vasilisa!" — quavered  her  aunt's  voice: — 
"  hey,  there,  Vasilisa!  " 

Vasilisa  ran  into  the  house.  Pyetushkoff  went 
his  way.  But  from  that  day  forth  he  began  to 
visit  the  baker's  shop  frequently,  and  not  in  vain. 
Ivan  Af  anasievitch,  to  speak  in  lofty  style,  at- 
tained his  end.     The  attainment  of  an  end  usu- 

197 


PYETUSHKOFF 

ally  cools  men  off,  but  Pyetushkoff ,  on  the  con- 
trary, grew  more  and  more  ardent  with  every 
passing  day.  Love  is  a  fortuitous  affair ;  it  exists 
of  itself,  as  an  art,  and  needs  no  justification, 
like  nature,  some  wise  man  has  said,  who  himself 
had  never  been  in  love,  but  reasoned  admirably 
about  love.  Pyetushkoff  became  passionately 
attached  to  Vasilisa.  He  was  perfectly  happy. 
His  soul  warmed  up.  Little  by  little  he  trans- 
ferred all  his  belongings,  at  least  all  his  Turkish 
pipes,  to  Praskovya  Ivanovna's  house,  and  sat  for 
whole  days  together  in  her  back  room.  Praskovya 
charged  him  for  his  dinner,  and  drank  his  tea; 
consequently,  she  did  not  complain  of  his  pres- 
ence. Vasihsa  got  used  to  him,  worked,  sang, 
and  spun  in  his  presence,  and  sometimes  ex- 
changed a  couple  of  words  with  him;  Pyetush- 
koff gazed  at  her,  smoked  his  pipe,  rocked  him- 
self on  his  chair,  laughed,  and,  during  her  leisure 
hours,  played  duratchki  [fool]  with  her  and 
Praskovya  Ivanovna.     Ivan  Afanasievitch  was 

happy But  there  is  nothing  perfect  on 

earth,  and  however  small  a  man's  demands  may 
be,  Fate  never  fully  satisfies  them,  even  spoils 
things,  if  possible.  .  .  .  The  spoonful  of  tar  will 
persist  in  falling  into  the  barrel  of  honey !  ^ 
Ivan  Afanasievitch  made  experience  of  this  in 
his  own  case.     In  the  first  place,  ever  since  his 

^  The  Russian  expression  to  indicate  that  one  drop  of  bitterness 
will  ruin  the  sweetest  of  fates.— Translator. 

198 


PYETUSHKOFF 

removal  to  Vasilisa's,  Pyetushkoff  had  fallen 
still  more  out  of  touch  with  his  comrades.  Pie 
saw  them  only  on  indispensable  occasions,  and 
then,  with  a  view  to  avoiding  hints  and  jeers  (in 
which,  by  the  way,  he  was  not  always  successful) , 
he  assumed  the  desperatelj^-morose  and  concen- 
tratedly-alarmed  mien  of  a  hare  which  is  drum- 
ming in  the  midst  of  fireworks.  In  the  second 
place,  Onisim  gave  him  no  peace,  lost  all  rever- 
ence for  him,  obdurately  persecuted  him,  and 
put  him  to  shame.  In  the  third  place,  and  in 
conclusion  ....  Alas!  read  further,  indulgent 
reader. 


One  day  Pyetushkoif  (who,  for  the  above-men- 
tioned reasons,  fared  badly  outside  of  Prasko- 
vya  Ivanovna's  house)  was  sitting  in  the  rear 
room — Vasilisa's  room — and  busying  himself 
with  some  sort  of  domestic  preparation,  not  pre- 
cisely a  preserve,  nor  yet  precisely  a  liqueur.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  was  not  at  home.  Vasilisa 
was  sitting  in  the  bake-shop  and  humming  a  song. 
A  tap  came  on  the  pane.  Vasilisa  rose,  stepped 
to  the  window,  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  burst  out 
laughing,  and  began  a  whispered  conversation 
with  some  person  or  other.  On  returning  to  her 
seat,  she  sighed,  and  began  to  sing  louder  than 
before. 

199 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  With  whom  wert  thou  chatting  just  now? " 
— Pyetushkoif  asked  her. 

Vasilisa  continued  to  "  break  the  viburnum- 
bush."  ' 

"  Vasihsa!    Dost  hear?    Hey,  Vasilisa?  " 

"  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  With  whom  wert  thou  talking?  " 

"  And  why  do  you  want  to  know  ? " 

"  Because  I  do." 

PyetushkofF  emerged  from  the  back  room  in 
a  motley-hued  Caucasian  coat,  with  sleeves  rolled 
up  and  with  a  siphon  in  his  hand. 

"  Why,  with  a  good  friend," — replied  Vasi- 
lisa. 

"  With  what  good  friend?  " 

"  Why,  with  Piotr  Petrovitch." 

"With  Piotr  Petrovitch?  ....  With  what 
Piotr  Petrovitch? " 

"  He  's  a  comrade  of  yours  also.  He  has  such 
a  queer  name." 

"Bublitzyn?"^ 

1  The  viburnum,  or  wild  snowball-tree,  figures  in  many  of  the  folk- 
songs. "  Breaking  the  viburnum-bush  "  is  one  of  the  traditional 
rites  connected  with  the  peasant  wedding.  On  the  young  couple's 
table  there  is  a  ham  and  a  square  bottle  of  liquor  corked  with  a  bunch 
of  viburnum  tied  with  a  scarlet  ribbon.  The  bridal  pair  are  aroused, 
and  treating  begins:  they  make  the  round  of  the  homes  of  the  bride's 
relatives,  parents  and  the  members  of  her  bridal-train  (consisting  of  cer- 
tain definitely-prescribed  persons  for  bridegroom  and  bride),  and  the 
wedding-guests.  On  their  return,  the  best  man  (the  eleventh  in  the 
groom's  train)  cuts  the  ham,  and  pulling  apart  the  cluster  of  vibur- 
num, passes  around  the  liquor.  Every  step  of  the  traditional  wed- 
ding-ceremonial is  accompanied  by  songs.  Vasilisa  was  singing  the 
one  appointed  for  the  final  stage,  as  above  described. — Translator. 

2  Derived  from  btiblik—a,  large  roll  in  the  form  of  a  ring.— Trans- 
lator. 

200 


PYETUSHKOFF 


« 


Well,  yes,  yes.  .  .  .  Piotr  Petrovitch." 

"  And  dost  thou  know  him?  " 

"I  should  think  I  did!  "—returned  Vasilisa, 
nodding  her  head. 

Pyetushkoif  paced  up  and  down  the  room  half 
a  score  of  times,  in  silence. 

"Hearken  to  me,  Vasilisa,"— he  said  at  last: 
— "  in  what  way  dost  thou  know  him?  " 

"  In  what  way  do  I  know  him?  ....  Why, 
I  do  know  him.  .  .  .  He  's  such  a  nice  gentle- 


man." 


<4 


"  But  how  is  he  nice?    How  is  he  nice?    How 
is  he  nice? " 

Vasilisa  looked  at  Ivan  Afanasievitch. 

He  is," — she  said  slowly  and  with  surprise. — 
Everybody  knows  what  he  is." 
Pyetushkoff  bit  his  lips  and  began  to  pace  the 
room  again. 

"  What  wert  thou  talking  about  with  him? 
Hey? " 

Vasilisa  smiled  and  dropped  her  eyes. 
Come,  speak,  speak,  speak,  I  tell  thee,  speak!" 
What   a   temper   you   are   in   to-day," — re- 
marked VasiHsa. 

Pyetushkoff  made  no  answer. 

Well,   no,    Vasilisa,"— he   began   at  last: — 
no,  I  will  not  be  angry.  .  .  .  Come  now,  tell 
me,  what  were  you  talking  about?  " 
Vasilisa  laughed. 

"  That    Piotr    Petrovitch    is    such    a    joker, 
reaUyl" 

201 


it 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"How  so?" 

"Well,  he  is!" 

Again  PyetushkofF  made  no  reply. 

"  Vasilisa,  thou  lovest  me,  I  think?  " — he  asked 
her. 

"Come,  take  yourself  off!" 

Poor  Pyetushkoff's  head  grew  oppressed. 
Praskovya  Ivanovna  entered.  They  sat  down  to 
dine.  After  dinner,  Praskovya  Ivanovna  took 
herself  off  to  the  platform  over  the  oven.^  Ivan 
Afanasievitch  himself  lay  down  by  the  oven, 
nestled  about  for  a  while,  and  fell  asleep.  A  cau- 
tious creaking  noise  awoke  him.  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch half  raised  himself,  propped  himself  on  his 
elbow,  and  looked:  the  door  was  open.  He 
sprang  up — Vasilisa  was  gone.  He  ran  into  the 
yard — and  she  was  not  in  the  yard;  into  the  street 
— and  gazed  hither  and  thither:  Vasilisa  was  not 
to  be  seen.  Hatless,  he  ran  clear  to  the  market: 
no  Vasilisa  was  visible.  Slowly  he  returned  to 
the  baker's  shop,  climbed  up  on  the  oven,  and 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  He  was  heavy  at 
heart.  Bublitzyn  ....  Bublitzyn  ....  that 
name  fairl}'^  rang  in  his  ears. 

"  What  's  the  matter  with  thee,  dear  little  fa- 
ther? "—Praskovya  Ivanovna  asked  him  with  a 
sleepy  voice. — "  Why  art  thou  groaning?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear  little  mother;  't  was  just  by 
accident.     Nothing.     I  feel  choked,  somehow.' 

*  For  sleeping.  —Translator. 

202 


j» 


PYETUSHKOFF 


«  if 


'T  is  the  mushrooms,"— lisped  Praskovya 
Ivanovna, — "  't  is  all  the  mushrooms." 

O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us  sinners! 

One  hour  passed,  then  another— and  still  Vasi- 
lisa  was  absent.  A  score  of  times  did  Pyetush- 
koff  feel  impelled  to  rise,  and  a  score  of  times  did 
he  sadly  nestle  down  under  the  sheepskin  coat. 
...  At  last,  however,  he  climbed  down  from  the 
oven  and  started  to  go  home,  and  had  already  got 
out  into  the  yard,  but  turned  back.  Prasko- 
vya Ivanovna  had  risen.  Luka,  the  workman, 
as  black  as  a  beetle,  although  he  was  a  baker,  was 
putting  the  loaves  in  the  oven.  Again  Pyetush- 
koff  went  out  on  the  porch  and  pondered.  A 
goat  who  dwelt  in  the  courtyard  made  up  to  him, 
and  butted  him  slightly  with  his  horns,  in  friendly 
wise.  PyetushkofF  glanced  at  him,  and,  God 
knows  why,  said:  "  Kys,  kys!  "  ^  All  of  a  sudden, 
the  low-browed  wicket-gate  opened  softly,  and 
Vasilisa  made  her  appearance.  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch  went  straight  to  meet  her,  took  her  by  the 
hand,  and  said  to  her  with  considerable  coolness, 
but  quite  firmly : 

"  Follow  me." 

*'  But  excuse  me,  Ivan  Afanasievitch  .... 
I 

"  Follow  me,"— he  repeated. 

She  obeyed. 

Pyetushkoff   led   her   to   his   own   lodgings. 

^  Equivalent  to:  "Puss,  puss!"— Translator. 

203 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Onisim,  according  to  his  habit,  was  sleeping, 
stretched  out  at  full  length.  Ivan  Afanasievitch 
woke  him,  and  ordered  him  to  light  a  candle. 
Vasilisa  walked  to  the  window  and  seated  her- 
self in  silence.  While  Onisim  was  fussing  with 
the  hght  in  the  anteroom,  Pyetushkoff  stood  mo- 
tionless at  the  other  window,  staring  into  the 
street.  Onisim  entered,  with  the  candle  in  his 
hand,  and  started  to  grumble.  .  .  .  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch wheeled  swiftly  round. 

"  Leave  the  room,"— he  said  to  him. 

Onisim  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  .  .  . 

"  Leave  the  room  this  very  instant!  "—repeated 
Pyetushkoff,  sternly. 

Onisim  cast  a  glance  at  his  master,  and  left  the 
room. 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  shouted  after  him: 

"Begone,   go   away   altogether!      Leave   the 
house.    Thou  may  est  return  two  hours  hence." 
•     Onisim  took  himself  off. 

Pyetushkoff  waited  until  the  gate  slammed, 
and  immediately  approached  Vasilisa. 

"  Where  hast  thou  been?  " 

Vasilisa  was  disconcerted. 

"  Where  hast  thou  been?  I  ask  thee,"— he  re- 
peated. 

Vasilisa  cast  a  glance  around  her.  .  .  . 
"I  am  speaking  to  thee.  .  .  .  Where  hast  thou 
been? " 

204) 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Pyetushkoff  began  to  raise  his  hand.  .  .  . 

"  Don't  beat  me,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  don't 
beat  me  .  .  .  ."  whispered  Vasihsa  in  affright. 

Pyetushkoff  turned  away. 

"Beat  thee.  .  .  .  No!  I  will  not  beat  thee. 
Beat  thee?  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,  my  darling. 
God  bless  thee !  When  I  thought  that  thou  didst 
love  me,  when  I  .  .  .  .  when  .  .  .  ." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  stopped.    He  was  choking. 

"Listen,  Vasilisa," — he  said  at  last:  "lam 
a  good-natured  man,  as  thou  knowest;  thou  dost 
know  that,  Vasilisa,  dost  thou  not? " 

"  I  do,"— she  stammered  out. 

"  I  do  harm  to  no  one,  to  no  one,  to  no  one 
in  the  world.  And  I  deceive  no  one.  Then  why 
dost  thou  deceive  me?  " 

"  But  I  do  not  deceive  thee,  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch." 

"  Thou  dost  not  deceive  me?  Well,  good. 
Well,  good.  Come,  tell  me,  where  hast  thou 
been?" 

"  I  went  to  Matryona." 

"Thouliest!" 

"  God  is  my  witness,  I  went  to  see  Matryona. 
Ask  her  if  you  do  not  believe  me." 

"And  Bub  ....  come,  what  's  his  name? 
....  didst  thou  see  that  devil?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Thou  sawest  him?  Thou  sawest  him?— Ah  I 
thou  sawest  him? " 

205 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Pyetushkoff  turned  pale. 

"So  thou  didst  make  an  appointment  with 
him  this  morning,  at  the  window  ....  hey? 
hey? " 

"  He  asked  me  to  come." 

"  And  thou  didst  go.  .  .  .  Thanks,  dear  little 
mother,  thanks,  my  own!  "—Pyetushkoff  made 
a  bow  to  Vasilisa's  girdle. 

"  Yes,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  perhaps  you 
think  .  .  .  ." 

"  Thou  wouldst  do  well  not  to  talk!  And  I, 
the  fool,  have  made  a  pretty  mess  of  it  too! 
What  am  I  shouting  about?  As  for  thee,  pray 
consort  with  whomsoever  thou  wilt.  I  care  no- 
thing for  thee.  So  there  now !  I  '11  have  nothing 
to  do  with  thee." 

Vasilisa  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  As  you  like,  Ivan  Afanasievitch." 

"  Whither  art  thou  going?  " 

"  Why,  you  yourself,  you  know  .  .  .  ." 

"  I  'm  not  driving  thee  away,"- — Pyetushkoff 
interrupted  her. 

*'  No,  really  now,  Ivan  Afanasievitch.  .  .  . 
Why  should  I  remain  at  your  house?  .  .  ." 

Pyetushkoff  let  her  get  as  far  as  the  door. 

"  So  thou  art  going  away,  Vasilisa? " 

"  You  keep  insulting  me.  .  .  ." 

"  I  insult  thee !  Thou  dost  not  fear  God,  Vasi- 
lisa !  When  did  I  ever  insult  thee  ?  Come,  no,  no, 
tell  me,  when? " 

206 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  But  what  do  you  mean?  A  little  while  ago 
you  came  near  thrashing  me." 

*'  Vasilisa,  't  is  sinful  of  thee.  Really,  't  is 
sinful!  " 

*'  And  you  have  reproached  me,  to  boot,  and 
said:  *  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  thee. 
I  'm  a  gentleman,'  you  said." 

Ivan  Af anasievitch  began  silently  to  wring  his 
hands.     Vasilisa  got  to  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  what  then?  God  be  with  you,  Ivan 
Afanasievitch.  I  will  go  my  way,  and  you  can 
go  yours.  ..." 

"  Enough,  Vasilisa,  enough  of  that,"— Pye- 
tushkoff  interrupted  her.—"  Thou  hadst  better 
change  thy  mind;  look  at  me.  Surelj%  I  am  not 
like  myself.  I  don't  know  myself,  what  I  am 
saying.  .  .  .  Thou  mightest  have  pity  on  me.  ." 

"  You  are  always  insulting  me,  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch. ..." 

"  Ekh,  Vasilisa!  When  sorrow  is  asleep,  wake 
it  not.  Is  n't  that  so?  Thou  art  not  angry  with 
me,  art  thou?  " 

"  You  are  always  insulting  me," — repeated 
Vasilisa. 

"  I  won't  do  it  again,  I  won't  do  it  again. 
Forgive  me,  an  old  man.  I  '11  never  do  so  again. 
Come,  hast  thou  forgiven  me,  I  'd  like  to  know?  " 

"  God  be  with  thee,  Ivan  Afanasievitch." 

"  Come,  laugh,  laugh. 

Vasihsa  turned  away. 

207 


*7 

PYETUSHKOFF 

"She  laughed,  the  dear  soul,  she  laughed!" 
—cried  Pyetushkoff,  dancing  up  and  down 
where  he  stood,  like  a  child.  ... 

VI 

On  the  following  day,  Pyetushkoff,  according 
to  his  wont,  set  off  for  the  baker's  shop.  Every- 
thing went  on  as  of  yore.  But  a  thorn  had  been 
implanted  in  his  heart.  He  no  longer  laughed  as 
frequently,  and  he  was  sometimes  pensive.  Sun- 
day arrived.  Praskovya  Ivanovna  had  a  pain 
in  her  loins;  she  stuck  to  the  platform  over  the 
oven;  with  a  great  effort,  she  got  down  to  go 
to  the  morning  service.  After  the  service,  Pye- 
tushkoff called  Vasilisa  into  the  rear  room.  She 
had  been  complaining  all  the  morning  of  being 
bored.  Judging  by  the  expression  of  Ivan 
Afanasievitch's  face,  an  unusual  thought,  and 
one  which  was  unexpected  to  himself,  was  run- 
ning about  in  his  mind. 

"  Come,  sit  thee  down  here,  Vasilisa," — he  said 
to  her,—"  and  I  will  sit  there.  I  must  have  a 
little  talk  with  thee." 

Vasilisa  seated  herself. 

"  Tell  me,  Vasilisa,  dost  thou  know  how  to 
write?" 

"To  write?" 

"  Yes,  to  write." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  how." 

208 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  And  to  read?  " 

"  And  I  don't  know  how  to  read  either." 

"  But  who  read  my  letter  to  thee?  " 

"  The  chanter." 

PyetushkofF  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"  But  wouldst  thou  like  to  know  how  to  read 
and  write? " 

"  But  why  should  the  likes  of  me  want  to  know 
how  to  read  and  write,  Ivan  Af anasievitch  ?  " 

"What  dost  thou  mean  by  'why'?  So  that 
thou  canst  read  books." 

"  And  what  is  there  in  books?  " 

"  Everything  good.  .  .  .  Listen,  I  will  bring 
thee  a  little  book,— shall  I?  " 

"  But,  you  see,  I  don't  know  how  to  read,  Ivan 
Af  anasievitch . " 

"  I  will  read  to  thee." 

"  Why,  that  must  be  tiresome,  I  think?  " 

"  How  can  it?  !  tiresome!  On  the  contrary, 
it  is  a  good  remedy  for  tedium.'* 

"  Will  you  read  fairy-tales?  " 

"  Thou  shalt  see — to-morrow." 

PyetushkofF  returned  home  toward  evening 
and  began  to  rummage  in  his  drawers.  He  found 
several  odd  volumes  of  the  "  Library  for  Read- 
ing," five  coarse  Moscow  romances,  NazarofF's 
arithmetic,  a  child's  geography  with  a  picture  of 
the  globe  on  the  title-page,  the  second  part  of 
KaidanofF's  history,  two  dream-books,  a  calendar 
for  the  5'ear  1819,  two  numbers  of  "  Galatea," 

209 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Natdlya  Dolgoruky,  by  KozloiF,  and  the  first 
part  of  Rosldvleff .  For  a  long  time  he  meditated 
which  he  should  select,  and  finally  decided  to  take 
KozlofF's  poem,  and  Rosldvleff. 

On  the  following  day,  Pyetushkoif  dressed 
himself  in  haste,  thrust  both  of  the  wretched  lit- 
tle books  under  the  facing  of  his  coat,  went  to  the 
baker's  shop,  and  began  to  read  her  Zagoskin's 
romance.  Vasilisa  sat  motionless,  first  smiled, 
then  seemed  to  fall  into  thought  ....  then  bent 
forward  a  little;  her  eyes  narrowed,  her  lipg 
parted  slightly,  her  hands  fell  on  her  knees — 
she  dozed.  Pyetushkoff  went  on  reading  fast, 
unintelligibly,  and  in  a  low  voice, — raised  his 
eyes.  .  .  . 

"  Vasilisa,  art  thou  asleep?  "  ' 

She  gave  a  start,  rubbed  her  face  and  stretched 
herself.  Pyetushkoff  was  vexed  with  her  and 
with  himself.  .  .  . 

"It  's  tiresome," — said  Vasilisa,  lazily. 

"  Listen,  and  I  '11  read  thee  some  verses, 
shall  I?" 

"  What? " 

"  Verses  ....  fine  verses." 

"  No,  stop;  really,  now,  do." 

Pyetushkoff  briskly  pulled  out  Kozloff 's  poem, 
sprang  to  his  feet,  strode  through  the  room, 
dashed  headlong  at  Vasilisa,  and  began  to  read. 
Vasilisa  threw  back  her  head,  flung  wide  her 
hands,  cast  a  glance  into  Pyetushkoff 's  face — and 

210 


PYETUSHKOFF 

suddenlj^  broke  out  into  a  ringing  peal  of  merry 
laughter;  ....  she  fairly  rolled  with  laughter. 

Ivan  Af anasievitch  hurled  the  book  to  the  floor 
with  vexation.     Vasilisa  continued  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  what  art  thou  laughing  at,  stupid?  " 

Vasilisa  redoubled  her  peals  of  laughter. 

"  Laugh  on,  laugh  on," — growled  Pyetush- 
kofF  through  his  teeth. 

Vasilisa  clutched  at  her  side,  and  groaned. 

"  But  what  art  thou  groaning  at,  thou  crazy 
woman? " 

But  Vasilisa  merely  flourished  her  hands. 
Ivan  Afanasievitch  seized  his  cap  and  fled  from 
the  house.  With  uneven  steps  he  strode  swiftly 
through  the  town,  and  kept  on  walking  until  he 
found  himself  at  the  barrier.  Along  the  street 
there  came  suddenly  the  rumbling  of  wheels,  the 
trampling  of  horses.  .  .  .  Some  one  called  him 
by  name.  He  raised  his  head,  and  beheld  a  com- 
modious old-fashioned  lineika.^  In  the  jaunting- 
car,  facing  him,  sat  INIr.  Bublitzyn  between  two 
young  ladies,  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Tiutiuryofl". 
The  two  girls  were  dressed  exactly  alike,  as 
though  to  signalise  their  inseparable  friendship; 
both  were  smiling  pensively,  but  agreeably,  and 
lolling  their  heads  languidly  on  one  side.  On 
the   other   side   of  the  jaunting-car  the   broad, 

^  The  linSika  is  something  like  an  Irish  jaunting-car,  sonretimes 
with  a  cross-seat  added  at  the  rear,  to  match  the  coachman's  seat  in 
front.     It  has  no  springs.  —Translator. 

211 


PYETUSHKOFF 

straw  hat  of  the  worthy  Mr.  Tiutiuryoff  was  visi- 
ble, and  a  portion  of  his  fat,  round  nape  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  gaze;  alongside  his  straw  hat 
the  mob-cap  of  his  spouse  reared  itself  aloft. 
The  very  position  of  the  two  parents  served  as  a 
plain  indication  of  their  sincere  goodwill  and 
confidence  in  young  Bublitzyn.  And  young 
Bublitzyn,  evidently,  was  conscious  of  and 
prized  their  flattering  confidence.  Of  course,  he 
was  sitting  in  an  unconstrained  attitude,  was  chat- 
ting and  laughing  unconstrainedly ;  but  in  the 
very  lack  of  constraint  of  his  behaviour  a  tender, 
touching  respect  was  perceptible.  And  the 
Misses  Tiutiuryoff?  It  would  be  difl^cult  to  ex- 
press in  words  all  that  the  attentive  eye  of  an 
observer  discerned  in  the  features  of  the  two 
sisters.  Good  principles  and  gentleness,  and 
modest  mirth,  sorrowful  comprehension  of  life 
and  immovable  faith  in  themselves,  in  the  lofty 
and  very  beautiful  vocation  of  man  on  earth, 
decorous  attention  to  their  youthful  interlocutor, 
who  was  not,  perhaps,  quite  their  equal  in  the 
matter  of  intellectual  endowment,  but  entirely 
worthy  of  indulgence  on  the  score  of  his  attri- 
butes of  heart  ....  these  were  the  qualities  and 
sentiments  which  were  depicted  at  that  moment 
on  the  countenances  of  the  Misses  Tiutiuryoff. 
Bubh'tzyn  called  to  Ivan  Afanasievitch  by  name 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  without  any  reason 
whatsoever,  out  of  overflowing  inward  satisfac- 
tion; he  bowed  to  him  in  an  extremely  friendly 

212 


PYETUSHKOFF 

and  courteous  manner;  the  Misses  Tiutiuryoff 
themselves  looked  caressingly  and  gently  at  him, 
as  at  a  man  with  whom  they  were  not  averse  to 
making  acquaintance.  .  .  .  The  kind,  well-fed, 
peaceable  horses  passed  Ivan  Afanasievitch  at  a 
gentle  trot;  the  jaunting-car  rolled  smoothly 
along  the  broad  road,  bearing  the  good-natured 
maidenly  laughter;  there  was  a  last  fleeting 
glimpse  of  Mr.  Tiutiuryoff 's  hat;  the  trace- 
horses  turned  their  heads  to  the  side,  and  bounded 
dashingly  along  over  the  short,  green  grass  .  .  . 
the  coachman  began  to  whistle  encouragingly  and 
cautiously;  the  jaunting-car  disappeared  behind 
the  willows. 

Poor  Pyetushkoff  stood  for  a  long  time  rooted 
to  the  spot. 

"  I  'm  an  orphan,  a  Kazan  orphan,"  ^  he  whis- 
pered at  last.  ... 

A  tattered  little  brat  of  a  boy  halted  in  front 
of  him,  gazed  timidly  at  him,  and  held  out  his 
hand.  .  .  . 

"  For  Christ's  sake,  good  gentleman." 

Pyetushkoff  got  a  two-kopek  piece  out  of  his 
pocket. 

"  There,  take  that  for  thine  orphanhood,"— he 
said  with  an  effort,  and  returned  to  the  baker's 
shop. — On  the  threshold  of  Vasilisa's  room  Ivan 
Afanasievitch  halted. 

"  And  this,"— he  thought,  "  this  is  the  kind  of 

^  Probably  in  reference  to  the  absolute  desolation  created  at  the  cap- 
ture of  Kazdn  from  the  Tatars  by  Ivan  the  Terrible.— Translator. 

213 


PYETUSHKOFF 

person  with  whom  I  consort!  Here  it  is,  my 
family!  here  it  is!  .  .  .  And  there  's  Bublitzyn, 
and  then  there  's  Bubh'tzyn." 

Vasihsa,  seated  with  her  back  to  him  and 
carelessly  humming  a  tune,  was  winding  thread. 
She  was  wearing  a  faded  calico  gown;  she  had 
braided  her  hair  at  hap-hazard.  ...  It  was  in- 
tolerably hot  in  the  room,  and  there  was  an 
odour  of  feather-bed  and  old  rags ;  here  and  there 
on  the  walls,  reddish,  dandified  cockroaches  ^  were 
scuttling  briskly  about;  on  the  decrepit  chest  of 
drawers,  with  holes  in  place  of  locks,  lay  a 
woman's  patched  shoe,  by  the  side  of  a  broken 
jar.  .  .  .  KozlofF's  poem  was  still  lying  on  the 
floor.  .  .  .  PyetushkofF  shook  his  head,  folded 
his  arms,  and  left  the  room.    He  was  hurt. 

At  home  he  gave  orders  that  his  clothes  should 
be  brought,  that  he  might  dress.  Onisim  dragged 
himself  slowly  off  in  quest  of  a  coat.  Pyetushkoif 
longed  to  challenge  Onisim  to  a  chat,  but  Onisim 
maintained  a  surly  silence.  At  last  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

"  Why  dost  not  thou  ask  me  where  I  am 
going  f 

"  Why  should  I  care  to  know  where  you  are 
going  f 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  that?  See  here  now, 
some  one  may  come  on  urgent  business,  and  ask : 
'  Is  Ivan  Afanasievitch  at  home? '     And  then 

1  Literally:  Prussians. — Translator. 

214 


PYETUSHKOFF 

thou  couldst  tell  him:  '  Ivan  Afanasievitch  has 
gone  to  such  and  such  a  place.'  " 

"  On  urgent  business.  .  .  .  But  who  does 
come  to  you  on  urgent  business?  " 

"  Here  now,  art  thou  beginning  to  be  impu- 
dent again?    Art  thou  at  it  again?  " 

Onisim  turned  away,  and  began  to  brush  the 
coat. 

"  Really,  Onisim,  thou  art  a  disagreeable  man." 

Onisim  darted  an  oblique  glance  at  his  master. 

"  And  thou  art  always  like  that.  Precisely 
that, — always." 

Onisim  grinned. 

"  But  what 's  the  use  of  my  asking  you  whither 
you  are  going,   Ivan  Afanasievitch?  As  if   I 
did  n't  know!    To  the  baker's  girl!  " 

"  What  nonsense !  That 's  a  lie !  I  'm  not  going 
to  her  at  all.  I  don't  intend  to  go  to  the  baker's 
girl  any  more." 

Onisim  screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  shook  his 
brush.  PyetushkofF  had  expected  approbation; 
but  his  servant  preserved  silence. 

"  It  is  n't  fitting,"— went  on  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch in  a  severe  tone, — "it  is  indecent.  .  .  . 
Come,  now,  say  what  thou  thinkest." 

"  What  's  the  use  of  my  thinking?  Do  as  you 
please.    Why  should  I  think?  " 

PyetushkofF  donned  his  coat.  — "He  does  n't 
believe  me,  the  brute,"— he  thought  to  himself. 

He  left  the  house,  but  did  not  drop  in  to  call  on 

215 


PYETUSHKOFF 

any  one.  He  roamed  about  the  streets.  He  di- 
rected his  attention  to  the  setting  sun.  At  last, 
about  eight  o'clock,  he  returned  home.  He  was 
smiling;  he  kept  incessantly  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, as  though  in  wonder  at  his  own  stupidity. 
— "There,  now,"— he  thought;— "  that  's  what 
it  means  to  have  a  strong  will.  ..." 

On  the  following  day  PyetushkofF  rose  quite 
late.  He  had  not  passed  a  very  good  night,  he 
went  nowhere  until  the  evening,  and  was  fright- 
fully bored.  Pyetushkoif  read  through  all  his 
horrid  little  books,  and  praised  aloud  one  of  the 
romances  in  the  "  Library  for  Reading."  When 
he  went  to  bed,  he  ordered  Onisim  to  give  him  a 
pipe.  Onisim  handed  him  a  very  wretched  little 
Turkish  pipe.  Pyetushkoif  began  to  smoke ;  the 
pipe  bubbled  hoarsely,  like  a  broken-winded 
horse. 

"How  nasty!" — exclaimed  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch; — "  and  where  's  my  cherry-wood  pipe?  " 

"  Why,  at  the  baker's  shop,"— calmly  replied 
Onisim. 

Pyetushkoff  winked  convulsively. 

"  Well?    Do  you  command  me  to  go  for  it?  " 

"  No,  it  is  n't  necessary;  don't  go.  .  .  I  don't 
want  it;  don't  go,  dost  thou  hear?" 

"  I  obey,  sir." 

He  got  through  the  night  somehow.  In  the 
morning,  Onisim,  according  to  custom,  presented 
to  PyetushkofF,  on  a  plate  with  blue  flowers,  a 

216 


PYETUSHKOFF 

fresh,  white  roll.  Ivan  Afanasievitch  looked  out 
of  the  window,  and  asked  Onisim : 

"  Didst  thou  go  to  the  bake-shop? " 

"Who  should  go,  if  not  I?" 

"Ah!" 

Pyetushkoff  sank  into  meditation. 

"Tell  me,  please,  didst  thou  see  any  one 
there? " 

"  Of  course  I  did." 

"Whom  didst  thou  see  there,  for  example?" 

"  Vasilisa,  of  course." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  fell  silent.  Onisim  cleared 
the  table,  and  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the 


room 


ti 


Onisim!" — called  Pyetushkoff,  faintly. 

What  do  you  wish? " 

A  .  .  .  did  she  inquire  about  me?" 

"  Of  course  she  did  n't." 

Pyetushkoff  gritted  his  teeth.— "  There,"— 
he  thought, — "  there  's  love  for  you.  .  .  ."  He 
hung  his  head. — "  And  I  certainly  have  been 
ridiculous,"— he  pursued  his  meditations;— "  I 
took  a  fancy  to  read  poetry  to  her !  Eka !  Why, 
she  's  a  fool !  Why,  the  only  thing  fit  for  her,  fool 
that  she  is,  is  to  lie  on  the  oven,  and  eat  pan- 
cakes !  Why,  she  's  a  blockhead,  a  perfect  block- 
head; an  uneducated  creature  of  the  petty 
burgher  class! " 

"  She  has  n't  come  .  .  .  ."  he  whispered  two 
hours  later,  as  he  sat  in  the  same  place; — "  she 

217 


PYETUSHKOFF 

has  not  come!  What  do  you  think  of  that?  She 
certainly  could  see  that  I  left  her  in  anger;  she 
certainly  might  have  known  that  I  was  offended ! 
There  's  \ov,e  for  thee!  And  she  did  n't  even  in- 
quire whether  I  was  well !  'Is  Ivan  Af anasie- 
vitch  well? ' — quoth  she.  This  is  the  second  day 
that  she  has  n't  seen  me, — and  she  does  n't  mind! 
....  Perhaps  she  has  even  been  pleased  to  have 
another  meeting  with  that  Bub  ....  The  lucky 
dog!    Phew,  damn  it,  what  a  fool  I  am!  " 

Pyetushkoff  rose,  paced  the  room  in  silence, 
halted,  frowned  slightly,  and  scratched  the  back 
of  his  head. — "  Never  mind,"— he  said  aloud:— 
*'  I  '11  just  go  to  her.  I  must  see  what  she  is 
doing  yonder.  I  must  make  her  feel  ashamed. 
Positively.  ...  I  wiU  go.  Onka!  Dress 
me!" 

*'  Come  now,"— he  thought,  as  he  was  dressing; 
—  "let  's  see  what  will  happen.  Just  as  likely 
as  not,  she  will  be  angry  with  me.  And,  in  fact, 
here  a  man  has  been  going-going,  going-going  to 
see  her,  and  all  of  a  sudden,  without  rh5^me  or 
reason,  he  has  stopped  going!  So  now,  we  shall 
see!" 

Ivan  Af anasievitch  left  the  house,  and  trudged 
off  to  the  bake-shop.  He  paused  at  the  wicket- 
gate  :  he  must  spruce  himself  up,  and  tighten  his 
belt.  .  .  .  Pyetushkoff  grasped  his  coat-tails 
with  both  hands,  and  came  near  tearing  them  off 
altogether.  .  .  .  Convulsively  did  he  crane  his 

218 


PYETUSHKOFF 

outstretched  neck,  fastened  the  top  hook  of  his 
collar,  and  heaved  a  sigh.  .  .  . 

"  Why  are  you  standing  there?  "— Praskovya 
Ivanovna  cried  to  him  through  the  window.— 
"  Come  in." 

PyetushkoiF  started  and  went  in.  Praskovya 
Ivanovna  met  him  on  the  threshold. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  favour  us  with  your  com* 
pany  yesterday,  dear  little  father?  Did  some 
trifling  indisposition  prevent  you?  " 

"  Yes,  somehow  I  had  a  headache  yester- 
day. .  .  ." 

"  You  ought  to  have  put  a  cucumber  on  each 
temple,  dear  little  father.  It  would  have  disap- 
peared instantly.  And  does  your  dear  head  ache 
nowf 

"  No,  it  does  not  ache." 

"  Well,  thanks  be  to  thee,  O  Lord!  " 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  betook  himself  to  the  back 
room.    Vasilisa  caught  sight  of  him. 

"  Ah!  Good  morning,  Ivan  Afanasitch!  " 

*'  Good  morning,  Vasilisa  Timofyeevna." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  siphon,  Ivan  Afa- 
nasitch? " 

"  The  siphon?    What  siphon?  " 

"  The  siphon  ....  our  siphon.  You  must 
have  carried  it  off  to  your  house.  You  're  such  a 
....  Lord  forgive!  .  .  ." 

PyetushkofF  assumed  a  cold  and  dignified 
aspect. 

219 


PYETUSHKOFF 


(( 


I  will  order  my  man  to  look.  As  I  was  not 
here  yesterday,"— he  said  significantly.  .  .  . 

"  Akh,  why  that 's  a  fact,  you  were  n't  here  yes- 
terday."— Vasihsa  squatted  down  on  her  heels 
and  began  to  rummage  in  a  chest.  .  .  .  "Aunty  I 
Hey,  aunty!  " 

"Wha-a-at?" 

"  Didst  thou  take  my  kerchief,  I  'd  like  to 
know? " 

"  What  kerchief?  " 

"  Why,  the  yellow  one." 

"The  yellow  one?" 

"  Yes,  the  yellow  one  with  the  flowered  pat- 
tern." 

"  No,  I  did  n't  take  it." 

PyetushkofF  bent  over  Vasilisa. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Vasilisa;  hearken  to  what  I  am 
going  to  say  to  thee.  'T  is  not  a  question  now 
of  siphons  or  of  kerchiefs;  thou  canst  busy  thy- 
self over  that  nonsense  at  some  other  time." 

Vasilisa  did  not  stir  from  the  spot,  and  merely 
raised  her  head. 

"  Do  thou  tell  me,  conscientiously — dost  thou 
love  me  or  not?  That  's  what  I  want  to  know, 
in  short! " 

"  Akh,  what  a  man  you  are,  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch!  ....  Well,  yes,  of  course." 

"  But  if  thou  lovest  me,  then  why  didst  not 
thou  come  to  me  yesterday?  Didst  thou  not  have 
the  time?    Well,  then  thou  mightest  have  sent  to 

220 


PYETUSHKOFF 

inquire  whether  I  was  ill,  whether  I  was  dead. 
But  thou  didst  worry  thyself  little.  I  might  even 
die  yonder,  all  by  myself,  and  thou  wouldst  not 
come! " 

"  Ekh,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,  a  body  can't  think 
of  one  thing  all  the  time;  there  's  work  to  be 
done." 

"  Of  course,"— responded  PyetushkoiF, — 
"  and,  nevertheless  ....  And  it  is  n't  proper  to 
laugh  at  your  elders.  ...  It  is  n't  nice.  How- 
ever, there  's  no  harm,  in  certain  cases.  .  .  .  But 
where  's  my  pipe?  " 

"  Here  is  your  pipe." 

PyetushkofF  began  to  smoke. 

VII 

Several  days  passed  quite  peacefully  to  all  ap- 
pearance. But  a  thunder-storm  was  brewing. 
Pyetushkoff  tormented  himself,  was  jealous, 
never  took  his  eyes  from  Vasilisa,  watched  her 
anxiously,  and  grew  frightfully  tired  of  her. 
Finally,  one  evening,  Vasilisa  dressed  herself 
more  carefully  than  usual,  and  seizing  a  conve- 
nient opportunity,  she  went  off  somewhere  to 
make  a  visit.  Night  descended,  and  she  had  not 
returned.  PyetushkofF  returned  to  his  lodgings 
at  dawn,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  ran 
to  the  bake-shop.  .  .  .  Vasilisa  had  not  arrived. 
With  an  inexpressible  sinking  at  the  heart  he 

221 


pyetushk6ff 

waited  for  her  until  dinner-time  ....  and  they 
sat  down  to  the  table  without  her.  .  .  . 

"  Where  can  she  have  disappeared  to?  " — said 
Praskovya  Ivanovna,  indifferently. 

"You  spoil  her;  you  simply  spoil  her  com- 
pletely! " — Pyetushkoff  kept  repeating. 

"  Ih,  dear  little  father!  one  can't  keep  track  of 
a  young  girl!" — replied  Praskovya  Ivanovna. 
— "  God  be  with  her!    If  only  she  had  done  her 

work Why  should  n't  a  person  have  a 

little  fun?  .  .  .  ." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  was  seized  with  a  cold 
chill.  At  last,  toward  evening,  Vasilisa  made  her 
appearance.  That  was  all  he  was  waiting  for. 
Pyetushkoff  rose  solemnly  from  his  chair,  folded 
his  arms,  and  contracted  his  brows  in  a  stern 
frown.  .  .  .  But  Vasilisa  looked  him  boldly  in  the 
eye,  laughed  audaciously,  and,  without  giving  him 
a  chance  to  utter  a  word,  walked  briskly  into  her 
room  and  locked  the  door.  Ivan  Afanasievitch 
opened  his  mouth  and  stared  in  amazement  at 
Praskovya  Ivanovna.  .  .  .  Praskovya  Ivanovna 
dropped  her  eyes.  Ivan  Afanasievitch  stood 
there  for  a  while,  groped  for  his  cap,  put  it  on 
his  head  askew,  and  left  the  house  without  shut- 
ting his  mouth. 

He  reached  home,  took  a  leather  cushion  and 
flung  himself  with  it  on  the  divan,  face  to  the 
wall.  Onisim  peeped  in  from  the  anteroom,  en- 
tered the  chamber,  leaned  his  back  against  the 

222 


PYETUSHKOFF 

door,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  crossed  his 
legs. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Ivan  Af anasievitch  ?  " — he  asked 
Pyetushkoff. 

PyetushkofF  made  no  reply. 

"  Do  you  order  me  to  go  for  the  doctor?" — 
went  on  Onisim,  after  waiting  a  little. 

"I  'm  well.  .  .  .  Get  out!" — said  Ivan  Afa- 
nasievitch  in  a  dull  tone. 

"  Well?  ....  No,  you  are  n't  well,  Ivan  Afa- 
nasievitch.  .  .  .  What  sort  of  health  is  this?  " 

PyetushkofF  maintained  silence. 

"  You  'd  better  take  a  look  at  yourself.  Why, 
you  've  grown  so  thin  that  you  simply  have  be- 
come unrecognisable.  And  all  for  what  ?  When 
one  comes  to  think  of  it,  he  loses  mind  and  rea- 
son, by  God!    And  a  nobleman,  to  boot!  " 

Onisim  paused.  .  .  .  PyetushkofF  did  not  stir. 

"  Is  this  the  way  noblemen  behave?— Come, 
you  might  have  had  your  fling  ....  why  not? 
....  you  might  have  had  your  fling,  and  dis- 
missed it  with  a  box  on  the  ear.  But  what  's  this 
like?  Why,  actually,  one  may  say,  't  is  falling  in 
love  with  Satan  more  than  with  the  bright  fal- 
con." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  only  writhed. 

*'  Come,  really,  this  won't  do,  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch. If  any  other  person  had  said  to  me  con- 
cerning you,  '  Here  now,  here  now,  what  goings- 
on !'  I  would  have  said  to  him :  '  Thou  'rt  a  fool. 

223 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Begone!  For  whom  dost  thou  take  me?  Dost 
suppose  I  'm  going  to  believe  that? '  But  now  I 
see  for  myself,  and  I  don't  believe.  Why,  there 
can't  be  anything  worse  than  this.  Has  she  been 
giving  you  some  sort  of  philter,  pray?  What  is 
there  about  her,  anyway?  If  you  would  use  com- 
mon sense,  't  is  all  utter  nonsense — simply,  fit  to 
spit  upon.  And  she  does  n't  even  know  how  to 
speak  correctly.  .  .  .  She  's  just  simply  a  com- 
mon wench!    Even  worse  than  that!  " 

"  Get  out!  " — moaned  Ivan  Afanasievitch  into 
his  pillow. 

"  No— I  won't  get  out,  Ivan  Afanasievitch. 
Who  should  speak,  if  not  I?  Just  look  at  the 
facts.  Here  you  are  breaking  your  heart  .... 
and  for  what?  Come,  for  what?  good  gracious, 
tell  me!" 

"  Do  go  away,  Onisim," — groaned  Pyetush- 
koff  again. 

Onisim  held  his  tongue  awhile,  out  of  decorum. 

"  And  just  to  think," — he  began  again: — "  she 
feels  no  gratitude  whatever.  Any  other  woman 
would  n't  have  known  how  to  do  enough  to  please 
you;  but  she!  ....  She  does  n't  even  think  of 
you.  Why,  it  's  a  downright  scandal.  And  it  's 
impossible  even  to  repeat  the  things  people  are 
saying  about  you;  it  even  makes  me  ashamed. 
Well,  if  I  could  only  have  known  this  beforehand, 
I  'd  have  given  her  .  .  .  ." 

"  Get  out,  you  devil,  I  tell  you  for  the  last 

224 


PYETUSHKOFF 

time!"— yelled   Pyetushkoff,  but  without  stir- 
ring from  his  place  or  raising  his  head. 

"Good  mercy,  Ivan  Afanasievitch! "— went 
on  the  implacable  Onisim.— "  I  'm  telHng  you  for 
your  own  good.  Spit  on  the  whole  thing,  Ivan 
Afanasievitch,  simply  spit  on  it,  heed  me.  If 
you  won't  do  that,  I  '11  fetch  the  vile  woman 
hither ;  you  can  get  rid  of  her  at  once.  You  will 
laugh  at  it  yourself  afterward;  you  wiU  say  to 
me:  '  Onisim,  it  's  amazing  what  things  one  does 
sometimes! '—Come,  judge  for  yourself:  you 
know  that  such  as  she  are  as  plentiful  with  us 
as  dogs  ....  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  whistle  .  .  .  ." 

Pyetushkoff  sprang  from  the  divan  like  a 
madman  ....  but,  to  the  astonishment  of  Oni- 
sim, who  had  already  raised  both  hands  on  a 
level  with  his  cheeks,  he  sat  down  again,  as  though 
some  one  had  knocked  the  legs  out  from  under 
him.  .  .  .  Tears  rolled  down  over  his  pale  face, 
a  tuft  of  hair  stood  out  over  his  temple,  his  eyes 
gazed  dimly  forth  ....  his  distorted  hps  quiv- 
ered ....  his  head  sank  on  his  breast. 

Onisim  looked  at  Pyetushkoff,  and  flung  him- 
self heavily  on  his  knees. 

"  Dear  little  father,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,"— he 
cried;— "your  Well-Born!  Please  to  chastise 
me,  fool  that  I  am!  I  have  troubled  you,  Ivan 
Afanasievitch.  .  .  .  How  dared  I!  Please  to 
chastise  me,  your  Well-Born.  .  .  Is  it  worth 
while  for  you  to  weep  because  of  my  stupid 

225 


PYETUSHKOFF 

speeches  ....  dear  little  father,  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch.  .  .  ." 

But  Pyetushkoff  did  not  even  look  at  his  ser- 
vant, turned  away,  and  huddled  down  again  in 
one  corner  of  the  divan. 

Onisim  rose,  went  to  his  master,  stood  over 
him,  and  clutched  at  his  own  hair  a  couple  of 
times. 

"  Won't  you  undress,  dear  little  father?  .  .  . 
You  'd  better  go  to  bed  ....  you  'd  better  eat 
a  bit  ...  .  please  don't  grieve.  .  .  .  'T  is  only 
with  half -sorrow,  all  this  amounts  to  nothing 
....  everything  will  come  right,"— he  said  to 
him  every  two  minutes. 

But  Pyetushkoff  did  not  rise  from  the  divan, 
and  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  from  time  to 
time,  and  drew  his  knees  up  to  his  body.  .  .  . 

Onisim  never  left  him  all  night  long.  Toward 
morning  Pyetushkoif  fell  asleep,  but  not  for 
long.  At  seven  o'clock  he  rose  from  the  divan, 
pale,  dishevelled,  exhausted,  and  called  for  tea. 

Onisim  prepared  the  samovar  obsequiously  and 
briskly. 

"  Ivan  Afanasievitch,"— he  began,  at  last,  in 
a  timid  voice,—"  you  are  not  pleased  to  be  angry 
with  me,  are  you?  " 

"  What  should  I  be  angry  with  thee  about, 
Onisim?  "—replied  poor  Pyetushkoff.— "  Thou 
wert  entirely  right  yesterday,  and  I  agree  with 
thee  perfectly  about  everything." 

226 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  I  only  did  it  out  of  zeal,  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch " 

"  I  know  that  it  was  out  of  zeal." 

PyetushkoiF  fell  silent,  and  dropped  his  eyes. 

Onisim  saw  that  things  were  in  a  bad  way. 

"  Ivan  Afanasievitch," — he  began  suddenly. 

"What?" 

"  I  '11  bring  Vasilisa  hither,  if  you  like?  " 

Pyetushkoff  crimsoned. 

"  No,  Onisim,  I  don't  like."  ("  Yes,  let  it  go! 
she  '11  come!" — he  thought  to  himself.) — "I 
must  display  firmness.  All  this  is  folly.  Yester- 
day .  .  .  you  know  ....  'T  is  a  disgrace.  Thou 
art  right.  I  must  make  an  end  of  all  this  at  one 
blow,  as  the  saying  is.     Is  n't  that  so?  " 

"  'T  is  the  plain  truth  j^ou  deign  to  speak,  Ivan 
Afanasievitch." 

Again  Pyetushkoff  buried  himself  in  thought. 
He  was  amazed  at  himself;  he  did  not  seem  to 
recognise  himself.  He  sat  motionless  and  stared 
straight  at  the  floor.  His  thoughts  were  in  a 
commotion  within  him,  like  smoke  or  mist,  and 
his  breast  felt  heavy  and  empty  at  one  and  the 
same  time. 

"  Well,  what  does  it  all  amount  to,  after  all? " 
— he  sometimes  thought,  and  calmed  down  again. 
— "Nonsense,  self-indulgence!" — he  said  aloud, 
and  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  shook  himself, 
and  again  his  hand  fell  on  his  knees,  again  his 
eyes  riveted  themselves  on  the  floor. 

227 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Onisim  gazed  attentively  and  sorrowfully  at 
his  master. 

PyetushkofF  raised  his  head. 

"  Tell  me,  Onisim,"— he  began,—"  is  it  true 
that  such  witches'  philters  do  exist?  " 

"  They  do,  sir,  certainly,  sir,"— repHed  Oni- 
sim, thrusting  out  his  leg.—"  Now,  for  example, 
you  know  Under-OfRcer  KrupovatofF,  don't  you? 
.  .  His  brother  was  ruined  through  witchcraft. 
They  bewitched  him  to  a  common  old  woman, 
to  a  cook,  just  think  of  that!  They  gave  him  a 
bit  of  plain  rye  bread  to  eat,  with  the  spell,  of 
course.  So  then  KrupovatofF's  brother  fell  head 
over  heels  in  love  with  the  cook,  and  ran  about 
everywhere  after  the  cook ;  he  simply  adored  her, 
and  could  never  gaze  his  fill.  Whatever  she  bade 
him  do,  he  obeyed  on  the  instant.  Even  in  the 
presence  of  others,  in  the  presence  of  strangers, 
she  made  a  display  of  her  power  over  him.  Well, 
and  she  drove  him  into  a  consumption  at  last.  So 
he  died,  did  KrupovatoflP's  brother.  And  she  was 
a  cook,  and  she  is  still,  and  old,  very  old."  (Oni- 
sim took  a  pinch  of  snufF.)  — "  Damn  all  those 
hussies  and  females." 

"She  does  n't  love  me  at  all— that  is  clear; 
in  short,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,"— mut- 
tered PyetushkofF  in  a  low  voice,  making  mo- 
tions with  his  head  and  hands  the  while,  as  though 
he  were  explaining  to  an  entirely  strange  man  a 
thing  of  which  he  was  wholly  ignorant. 

228 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  Yes,"— pursued   Onisim,— "  there   are   such 


women." 


"  There  are,"— repeated  PyetushkofF,  dejec- 
tedly, not  exactly  in  a  tone  of  inquiry,  nor  yet 
as  though  surprised. 

Onisim  surveyed  his  master  attentively. 

"  Ivan  Afanasievitch,"— he  began,—"  had  n't 
you  better  take  a  bite  of  something? " 

"  Take  a  bite  of  something?  "—repeated  Pye- 
tushkofF. 

"  Or  would  n't  you  like  your  pipe?  " 

"  Pipe?  "—repeated  PyetushkofF. 

"  So  that  's  what  it  has  come  to!"— growled 
Onisim:  "  this  means  that  he  's  gone  daft." 

VIII 

The  clumping  of  boots  resounded  in  the  ante- 
room, and  the  customary  suppressed  cough  which 
announces  the  arrival  of  an  inferior  person  made 
itself  audible  there.  — Onisim  went  out,  but  im- 
mediately returned  accompanied  by  a  tiny  sol- 
dier of  the  garrison  with  the  face  of  an  old  wo- 
man, clad  in  a  patched  overcoat  which  had  been 
worn  to  the  point  of  turning  yellow,  devoid  of 
trousers,  and  devoid  of  neckcloth.  PyetushkofF 
started— but  the  soldier  drew  himself  up  in  mih- 
tary  fashion,  wished  him  good  morning,  and 
handed  him  a  large  envelope  sealed  with  the  offi- 
cial seal.  The  envelope  contained  a  note  from  the 

229 


PYETUSHK^FF 

Major  in  command  of  the  garrison:  he  ordered 
PyetushkofF  to  him  instantly  and  without  delay. 

PyetushkofF  turned  the  note  over  in  his  hands 
— and  could  not  refrain  from  asking  the  messen- 
ger: "  Did  he  know  why  the  Major  had  ordered 
him  to  present  himself?  "—although  he  under- 
stood perfectly  the  utter  futility  of  such  a  ques- 
tion. 

"We  cannot  know! "  ^—shouted  the  soldier 
with  an  effort,  but  in  a  barely  audible  voice,  as 
though  he  were  only  half  awake. 

"  And  he  is  not  ordering  the  other  officers  to 
him?  "  went  on  PyetushkofF. 

"We  cannot  know!" — shouted  the  soldier  a 
second  time,  in  the  same  sort  of  tone. 

"  Very  well,  go," — said  PyetushkofF. 

The  soldier  made  a  military  turn  to  the  left, 
stamping  his  foot  as  he  did  so,  and  slapping  him- 
self with  the  palm  of  his  hand  lower  down  than 
the  spine  (that  was  the  style  in  the  "  twenties  ") , 
and  withdrew. 

PyetushkofF  silently  exchanged  glances  with 
Onisim,  who  immediately  assumed  an  anxious  air 
—and  went  to  the  Major. 

This  Major  was  a  man  of  sixty,  corpulent  and 
awkward,  with  a  swollen,  red  face,  a  short  neck, 
and  a  perpetual  tremor  in  his  fingers,  which  arose 
from  a  too  profuse  use  of  vodka.  He  belonged 
to  the  category  of  so-called  "  Bourbons,"  that  is 

The  official  form  of  "  I  don't  know."— Translator. 

230 


PYETUSHKOFF 

to  say,  of  soldiers  who  had  advanced  in  the  ser- 
vice from  the  lower  ranks,  had  taught  himself  to 
read  and  write,  and  spoke  with  difficulty,  partly 
on  account  of  asthma,  partly  from  inability  to 
comprehend  his  own  thought.  His  temperament 
exhibited  all  the  variations  known  to  science:  in 
the  morning,  before  vodka,  he  was  melancholy; 
in  the  middle  of  the  day,  choleric;  and  toward 
evening,  phlegmatic — that  is  to  say,  at  that  time 
he  only  snuffled  and  bellowed,  until  he  was  put 
to  bed.  Ivan  Afanasievitch  presented  himself 
to  him  during  his  choleric  period.  He  found  him 
sitting  on  a  divan,  in  his  dressing-gown  open  at 
the  breast,  and  with  a  pipe  in  his  teeth.  A  fat, 
crop-eared  cat  had  cuddled  down  beside  him. 

"  Aha!  So  he  has  come!  "—growled  the  Ma- 
jor, turning  askance  upon  PyetushkofF  his  leaden 
little  eyes,  and  without  stirring  from  his  place. — 
*'  Come  now,  sit  down; — come,  I  '11  give  it  to 
you  well. — I  've  had  my  eye  on  the  watch  for 
fellows  of  your  stamp  this  long  time  .  .  .  yes, 
I  have." 

Pyetushkoff  sank  down  on  a  chair. 

"  Because," — burst  out  the  Major,  with  an  un- 
expected impulse  of  his  whole  body,—"  you  are 
an  officer,  you  know;  so  you  must  conduct  your- 
self according  to  regulations. — If  you  were  a 
soldier,  I  would  simply  give  you  a  whipping, — 
and  that  would  be  the  end  of  it;  but  you  happen 
to  be  an  officer.     Is  n't  it   outrageous?     You 

231 


PYETUSHKOFF 

ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  Do  you  think 
it  's  nice?  " 

"  Permit  me  to  inquire  to  what  these  hints 
point?  "— Pyetushkoff  was  beginning.  .  .  . 

"  No  arguing  with  me!  I  have  a  deadly  hatred 
of  that.  I  've  told  you  I  don't  hke  it;  well,  and 
that  's  all  there  is  to  be  said!  There  now,  your 
hooks  are  not  according  to  regulations;  what  a 
disgrace! — He  sits  day  after  day  in  a  bake-shop; 
and  he  's  a  nobleman  to  boot!  He  has  set  up  a 
petticoat  there — and  there  he  sits. — Well,  damn 
her,  that  petticoat!— And  they  actually  say  that 
he  puts  the  loaves  in  the  oven  himself.— He  sul- 
lies his  uniform  ....  yes." 

"  Permit  me  to  report,"— said  PyetushkoiF, 
whose  heart  turned  cold, — "that  all  this,  so  far 
as  I  can  judge,  refers  to  my  private  life,  so  to 
speaic  ... 

"Don't  argue  with  me,  I  tell  you! — Private 
life — he  dares  to  argue!  If  I  had  anything 
against  you  on  the  score  of  the  service,  I  'd  send 
you  straight  off  to  the  gward-housel — Alle  mar- 
shir! — Because  I  'm  sworn  to  do  it. — A  whole 
birch-grove  was,  probably,  used  up  on  me  myself: 
so  I  know  the  service;  all  those  proceedings  are 
very  familiar  to  me.  But  you  are  to  understand, 
I  refer  in  particular  to  the  uniform.  Thou  art 
disgracing  the  uniform — yes,  I  'm  acting  like  a 
father  ....  yes.  Because  all  that  is  entrusted 
to  me.    I  must  answer  for  it. — And  here  you  are 

232 


PYETUSHKOFF 

arguing!  "—shouted  the  Major,  with  a  sudden 
access  of  ferocity,  and  his  face  turned  purple,  and 
froth  made  its  appearance  on  his  lips,  and  the  cat 
elevated  its  tail  and  sprang  to  the  floor.—"  Yes, 
and  do  you  know.  .  .  Yes,  do  you  know,  that 
I  can  ....  that  I  can  do  everything!  every- 
thing, everything!— And  do  you  understand  to 
whom  you  are  talking? — Your  superior  officer 
commands — and  you  argue!  Your  superior  offi- 
cer. .  .  .  Your  superior  officer !  ..." 

Here  the  Major  even  began  to  cough  and  rat- 
tle in  his  throat— and  poor  Pyetushkoff  merely 
drew  himself  up  and  turned  pale,  as  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  chair. 

"  See  that  everything,"  ....  pursued  the 
trembling  Major,  waving  his  hand  imperiously, 
—  "see  that  everything  ....  toes  the  mark! 
First-class  behaviour! — I  won't  tolerate  any  dis- 
order! Thou  mayest  consort  with  whom  thou 
choosest— I  don't  care  a  fig  about  that!  But  if 
thou  art  well-born,— well,  then,  you  know,  act 
like  a  nobleman!— I  won't  have  thee  putting  the 
loaves  in  the  oven!  I  won't  have  thee  calling  a 
draggle-tailed,  low-born  woman  '  aunty  ' !  I 
won't  have  thee  disgracing  the  uniform!  Hold 
thy  tongue!    Don't  argue!  " 

The  Major's  voice  broke.  He  took  breath, 
and  turning  toward  the  door  of  the  anteroom, 
he  shouted:—"  Frolka,  thou  rascal!    Herrings!  " 

Pyetushkoff  rose  briskly  and  darted  out,  almost 

233 


PYETUSHKOFF 

knocking  off  his  legs  the  page-boy  who  was  run- 
ning in  with  sHced  herrings  and  a  huge  carafFe  of 
vodka  on  a  yellow  tray. 

"Hold  thy  tongue!  Don't  argue!" — re- 
sounded behind  PyetushkofF  the  spasmodic  ex- 
clamations of  the  incensed  commander. 

IX 

A  STRANGE  feeling  took  possession  of  Ivan  Afa- 
nasievitch,  when  he  suddenly  found  himself  in 
the  street. 

"  Why,  what  makes  it  seem  as  though  I  were 
walking  in  my  sleep?"— he  thought  to  himself. 
— "Have  I  lost  my  mind,  I  'd  like  to  know? 
For  this  certainly  is  incredible.  Come,  damn  it! 
she  has  ceased  to  love  me,  and  I  have  ceased  to 
love  her,  well,  and  ....  what  is  there  remark- 
able about  that? " 

Pyetushkoff  contracted  his  brows  in  a  frown. 

"  There  must  be  an  end  to  this,  in  short,"— he 
said  almost  aloud; — "  I  will  go  and  have  a  defini- 
tive explanation  for  the  last  time,  so  that  after- 
ward not  a  trace  of  it  may  be  left." 

With  hasty  strides,  PyetushkofF  betook  him- 
self to  the  bake-shop.  The  nephew  of  Luka  the 
hired  man,  a  diminutive  brat,  the  friend  and  in- 
timate of  the  goat  which  lived  in  the  courtyard, 
sprang  briskly  to  the  wicket-gate  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  Ivan  Afanasievitch. 

234 


(( 
<( 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Praskovya  Ivanovna  came  out  to  greet  Pye- 
tushkoff. 

"  Is  n't  your  niece  at  home?  "—asked  Pye- 
tushkofF. 

"  No,  sir,  she  is  n't." 

Pyetushkoff  inwardly  rejoiced  at  VasiHsa's 
absence. 

"  I  have  come  to  have  an  explanation  with  you, 
Praskovya  Ivanovna." 

What  about,  dear  little  father? " 
Why,  about  this.  You  understand  that  after 
all  ...  .  that  has  taken  place  ....  after  such 
goings-on,  so  to  say  "  (Pyetushkoff  was  get- 
ting somewhat  confused)  .  ..."  in  a  word. 
....  But,  please  don't  be  angry  with  me." 
Yes,  sir." 

On   the   contrary,   enter   into   my   position, 
Praskovya  Ivanovna." 
Yes,  sir." 

You  are  a  sensible  woman,  you  understand 
yourself,  that  ....  that  I  can  no  longer  come 
to  your  house." 

"  Yes,  sir,"— said  Praskovya  Ivanovna  in  a 
sing-song  tone. 

"  Believe  me,  I  greatly  regret  it;  I  confess  it 
even  gives  me  pain,  genuine  pain.  .  .  ." 

"  You  must  know  best,  sir,"— returned  Pras- 
kovya Ivanovna,  with  composure.—"  It  must  be 
as  you  like,  sir.  And  now,  if  you  will  allow  me, 
I  '11  give  you  your  bill." 

235 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Pyetushkoff  had  not  in  the  least  expected  such 
ready  assent.  On  the  whole,  he  had  not  desired 
"  assent  ";  he  would  have  liked  merely  to  frighten 
Praskovya  Ivanovna,  and  especially  Vasilisa. 
He  was  discomfited. 

"  I  know,"— he  began,—"  that  this  will  not  be 
in  the  least  displeasing  to  Vasilisa;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  think  she  will  be  glad." 

Praskovya  Ivanovna  got  her  reckoning-frame* 
and  began  to  rattle  the  bone  balls. 

"  On  the  other  hand," — went  on  Pyetush- 
koff, who  waxed  more  and  more  agitated, — "  if, 
for  example,  Vasilisa  would  explain  to  me  her 
conduct  ....  possibly  ....  I  ...  .  although,  of 
course  ....  I  don't  know,  possibly,  I  might 
see  that,  in  reality,  there  was  no  harm  whatever 
m  it. 

"  You  owe  me  thirty-seven  rubles  and  forty 
kopeks,  paper  money,  dear  little  father," — re- 
marked Praskovya  Ivanovna.  — "  Here,  would 
you  like  to  verify  the  account?  " 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  answered  never  a  word. 

"Eighteen  dinners  at  seventy  kopeks  apiece: 
twelve  rubles  sixty  kopeks." 

"  So  you  and  I  are  to  part,  Praskovya  Iva- 


novna 


How  can  it  be  helped,   dear  little  father? 

^  The  use  of  the  abacus  is  very  extensive,  even  at  the  present  day, 
among  the  merchant  class  in  Russia.  They  perform  long  and  intri- 
cate calculations  with  amazing  facility.— Translator. 

236 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Such  things  do  happen.  Twelve  samovars,*  at 
ten  kopeks  apiece.  .  .  ." 

"  But  just  tell  me,  Praskovya  Ivanovna,  where 
did  Vasilisa  go,  and  why  did  she  ..." 

"  Why,  I  did  n't  question  her,  dear  little  father. 
.  .  .  .  One  ruble  twenty  kopeks,  silver  money." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  became  thoughtful. 

"  Kvas  and  sour-cabbage  soup," — went  on 
Praskovya  Ivanovna,  separating  the  beads  on  her 
counting-frame,  not  with  her  forefinger,  but 
with  her  third  finger,—"  to  the  amount  of  half 
a  ruble,  silver.  Sugar  and  rolls  for  tea,  half  a 
ruble,  silver.  Four  packets  of  tobacco,  bought  by 
your  order,  eighty  kopeks,  silver.  Paid  the 
tailor,  Kupriyan  Apollonoff  .  .  .  ." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  suddenly  raised  his  head, 
put  out  his  hand,  and  mixed  up  the  beads. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  dear  little  father?  ! " 
— said  Praskovya  Ivanovna. — "  Don't  you  be- 
lieve me? " 

"  Praskovj'^a  Ivanovna," — replied  Pyetush- 
koff,  with  a  hurried  smile, — "  I  have  changed  my 
mind.  I  was  only  jesting,  you  know.  Let  us, 
rather,  remain  friends,  as  of  old.  What  non- 
sense!   How  can  you  and  I  part,  tell  me,  please?" 

Prask6^ya  Ivanovna  hung  her  head  and  did 
not  answer  him. 

"  Come,  we  have  had  our  quarrel  out— and 

1  Meaning  that  the  samovfCr  had  been  prepared  twelve 
times.  — Translator. 

237 


PYETUSHKOFF 


that  's  the  end  of  it," — went  on  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch,  pacing  the  room,  rubbing  his  hands,  and, 
as  it  were,  entering  again  upon  his  former 
rights.— "  Amen!  see  here,  I  'd  better  smoke  a 
pipe. 

Praskovya  Ivanovna  still  did  not  stir  from  the 
spot.  .  .  . 

"  I  see  that  you  are  angry  with  me," — said 
Pyetushkoff. — "  Perhaps  I  have  hurt  your  feel- 
ings. Come,  what  of  that?  Be  magnanimous 
and  forgive." 

"  Hurt  my  feehngs,  forsooth,  dear  little  fa- 
ther! How  have  you  hurt  them?  .  .  .  Only,  if 
you  please,  dear  little  father,"— added  Praskovya 
Ivanovna,  with  an  inclination, — "  be  so  good  as 
not  to  come  to  our  house  any  more." 
What? " 

It  is  n't  proper  for  you  to  associate  with  us, 
your  Well-Born.  So  please  do  us  the  fa- 
vour. .  .  ." 

"But  why?"  stammered  the  astounded  Pye- 
tushkoff. 

"  Why,  just  because,  dear  little  father.  Show 
us  that  divine  favour." 

"  But  no,  Praskovya  Ivanovna,  we  must  have 
an  explanation!  .  .  .  ." 

"  Vasilisa  beseeches  you,  dear  little  father.  She 
says :  '  I  'm  grateful,  very  grateful,  and  I  feel  it, 
only,  in  future,  your  Well-Born,  relieve  me  of 
your  presence.' " 

238 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Praskovya  Ivanovna  bowed  down  almost  to 
PyetushkofF's  feet. 

"  Vasilisa,  you  say,  asks  me  not  to  come?  "       « 

"  Exactly  so,  dear  little  father,  your  Weil- 
Born.  As  you  were  pleased  to  favour  us  with  a 
visit  to-day,  and  said  that  you  did  not  wish  to 
visit  us  any  more, — that  is  to  say,  I  was  just  de- 
lighted, dear  little  father,  and  thinks  I  to  myself: 
'  There  now,  and  thank  God,  that  everything  has 
come  right.'  For  otherwise,  my  own  tongue 
would  n't  have  twisted  itself  round  to  speak.  .  .  . 
Show  us  that  favour,  dear  little  father." 

Pyetushkoff  reddened  and  paled  almost  simul- 
taneously. Praskovya  Ivanovna  still  continued 
to  make  obeisances.  .  .  . 

"  Very  well,"— exclaimed  Ivan  Afanasievitch, 
sharply.—"  Good-bye." 

He  wheeled  round  abruptly  and  put  on  his  cap. 

"  And  about  the  little  bill,  dear  little  fa- 
ther. .  .  ." 

"  Send  it  .  .  .  my  orderly  will  pay  you." 

Pyetushkoff  left  the  bake-shop  with  a  firm 
tread,  and  did  not  even  glance  round. 

X 

Two  weeks  passed.  At  first  Pyetushkoff^  kept 
up  his  courage  extremely  well,  went  out  in  soci- 
ety, and  visited  his  comrades,  with  the  exception, 
of  course,  of  Bublitzyn;  but,  despite  the  exag- 

239 


PYETUSHKOFF 

gerated  praises  of  Onisim,  he  nearly  went  out  of 
his  mind,  at  last,  with  grief,  jealousy,  and  tedium. 
Nothing  afforded  him  any  consolation  except 
chats  with  Onisim  about  Vasilisa.  PyetushkofF 
began  the  conversation,  and  was  always  the  ag- 
gressor; Onisim  reluctantly  answered  him. 

"  But  it  is  a  strange  thing,"— Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch  said,  for  example,  as  he  lay  on  his  divan, 
while  Onisim,  according  to  his  custom,  stood 
leaning  against  the  door,  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him:— "when  you  come  to  think  of  it: 
come,  now,  what  did  I  see  in  that  girl?  There  's 
nothing  remarkable  about  her,  it  strikes  me.  She 
is  kind-hearted,  it  is  true.  One  must  not  deny 
her  that  merit." 

"  Kind  -  hearted  —  indeed !  "—  replied  Onisim 
with  displeasure. 

"Come,  Onisim,"— went  on  PyetushkofF, — 
"  one  must  speak  the  truth.  Now  that  is  an  affair 
of  the  past:  it  makes  no  difference  to  me  now, 
but  justice  is  justice.  Thou  dost  not  know  her. 
She  is  extremely  kind-hearted.  She  never  lets  a 
single  beggar  go  empty-handed  away:  she  gives 
him  at  least  a  crust  of  bread.  Well,  and  she  has 
a  cheerful  disposition— that  must  also  be  said  of 
her." 

"There  you  go,  inventing  still!  Where  did 
you  find  her  cheerful  disposition?  " 

"  I  tell  thee  .  .  .  thou  dost  not  know  her. 
And  she  is  not  greedy  of  money,  either  .... 

240 


PYETUSHKOFF 

that  's  another  point.  She  does  not  have  an  eye 
on  her  own  interests,  there  's  no  denying  that. 
Well,  and  although  I  ....  yet  I  gave  her  no- 
thing, as  thou  knowest." 

"  That 's  exactly  why  she  threw  you  over." 

"  No,  that  was  not  the  reason!  "—replied  Pye- 
tushkoiF  with  a  sigh. 

"  Why,  you  're  in  love  with  her  even  now,"— 
retorted  Onisim,  viciously.—"  You  'd  be  glad 
enough  to  go  back  to  your  former  position." 

"  There  thou  art  talking  nonsense.  No,  bro- 
ther, evidently,  thou  dost  not  know  me  either. 
They  turned  me  out  of  the  house,  and  I  won't 
go  and  make  obeisance  to  them  after  that.  No, 
excuse  me.  No,  I  tell  thee,  believe  me,  all  that 
is  now  a  thing  of  the  past." 

"  God  grant  it!    God  grant  it!  " 

"  But  why  should  n't  I  be  just  to  her,  even 
now?  Come,  now,  if  I  were  to  say  that  she  is  not 
good-looking, — who  would  believe  me?  " 

"A  fine  beauty  you  have  found!" 

"  Come,  find  me,— well,  name  to  me  any  one 
who  is  better-looking  than  she " 

"Well,  then,  go  back  to  her!  .  .  .  ." 

"Eka!  But  is  that  what  I  am  talking  for, 
pray?    Understand  me.  .  .  ." 

"Okh!  I  understand  you,"— replied  Onisim 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 

Another  week  passed.  Pyetushkoff  ceased 
even  to  talk  with  his  Onisim ;  he  ceased  to  go  out. 

241 


PYETUSHKOFF 

From  morning  till  night  he  lay  on  his  divan,  with 
his  hands  thrown  up  over  his  head.  He  began  to 
grow  thin  and  pale,  he  ate  reluctantly  and  hur- 
riedly, he  did  not  smoke  at  all.  Onisim  merely 
shook  his  head  as  he  looked  at  him. 

"  Surely  you  are  not  feehng  well,  Ivan  Afana- 
sievitch,"— he  said  to  him  more  than  once. 
"  Yes,  I  'm  all  right," -replied  Pyetushkoff. 
At  last,  one  fine  day  (Onisim  was  not  at 
home) ,  Pyetushkoff  rose,  rummaged  in  his  chest 
of  drawers,  donned  his  heavy  cloak,  although  the 
sun  was  pretty  hot,  emerged  stealthily  into  the 
street,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  returned 
home  again.  .  .  .  He  was  carrying  something 
under  his  cloak.  .  .  . 

Onisim  was  not  at  home.  All  the  morning  he 
had  been  sitting  in  his  tiny  den,  thinking  matters 
over,  grumbling  and  swearing  through  his  set 
teeth,  and,  at  last,  he  had  set  off  to  see  Vasilisa. 
He  found  her  in  the  bake-shop.  Praskovya 
Ivanovna  was  asleep  on  the  oven,  snoring  regu- 
larly and  languidly. 

"  Akh,  good  morning,  Onisim  Sergyeevitch," 
—said  Vasilisa  with  a  smile.—"  Why  have  n't  we 
seen  you  this  long  time?  " 
"  Morning." 

"  What  makes  you  so  downcast?    Won't  you 
have  some  tea? " 

"  'T  is  not  a  question  of  me  now,"— returned 
Onisim,  testily. 

242 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  What,  then?  " 

"  What!  Dost  not  thou  understand  me,  pray? 
*  What?  ! '  What  hast  thou  done  to  my  master? 
Come,  tell  me  that." 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"  Thou  hast  done  something.  .  .  .  Just  come 
and  look  at  him.  The  first  anybody  knows,  he  '11 
fall  ill  and  die  altogether." 

"How  am  I  to  blame,  Onisim  Sergyeitch?" 

"  How?  ! — God  knows.  He  fairly  adores  thee, 
see?  But  thou  hast  treated  him  as  though  he 
were  a  fellow  like  me,  the  Lord  forgive  thee! 
'  Don't  come,'  sayest  thou,  '  I  'm  tired  of  thee.' 
Anyway,  if  he  is  n't  an  important  person,  he  's 
a  gentleman  all  the  same.  He  's  a  noble- 
man, all  the  same.  .  .  .  Dost  thou  understand 
that? " 

"  But  he  's  so  tiresome,  Onisim  Sergyeitch. . . ." 

"  Tiresome!  But  thou  must  needs  always  have 
jovial  men! " 

"Well,  he  's  not  exactly  tiresome;  but  he  's 
such  an  irascible,  jealous  man." 

"  Akh,  thou  Astrakhan  Tzarevna  Milikitrisa! 
See  there,  now,  he  has  worried  thee!  " 

"  Why,  you  yourself,  Onisim  Sergyeitch,  as  I 
remember,  were  angry  with  him.  '  Why  does 
he  associate  with  them,'  says  you;  'why  is  he 
always  going  to  them? 

"  What  of  that?  Was  I  to  praise  him  for  that, 
I'd  like  to  know?" 

243 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  Well,  then,  why  are  you  angry  with  me  now? 
You  see,  he  has  stopped  coming." 

Onisim  even  stamped. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  with  him,  if  he  's 
such  a  crazy  man?  " — he  added,  lowering  his 
voice. 

"  Then  how  am  I  to  blame?  How  can  I  help 
you? 

"  This  is  how:  come  along  with  me  to  him." 

"The  Lord  forbid!" 

"Why  wilt  not  thou  go?  " 

"  Why  won't  I  go  to  him?    Good  mercy! " 

"  Why?  And  then,  see  here,  he  said  that  thou 
wert  kind-hearted.  I  see  how  kind-hearted  thou 
art." 

"  But  what  good  can  I  do  him? " 

"  Well,  I  know  all  about  that.  Things  must 
be  pretty  bad  if  I  come  to  thee.  Evidently,  I 
could  think  of  no  other  means." 

Onisim  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Come,  let  's  go,  Vasilisa;  please  come  along." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  associate  with  him  again, 
Onisim  Sergyeitch.  .  .  ." 

"  That  is  n't  necessary— who  told  thee  that  it 
was?  But  so, — say  a  couple  of  words  to  him: 
'  Why  do  you  deign  to  grieve?  '—say  .  .  .  '  Stop 
it.  .  .  .'    That  's  all." 

"  Really,  Onisim  Sergyeitch.  .  .  ." 

"  Come  now,  dost  want  me  to  bow  down  be- 
fore thee,  pray?     Come,  if  thou  wilt  have  it— 

244 


PYETUSHKOFF 

here  's  an  obeisance  for  thee  ....  and  here  's 
another  obeisance  for  thee." 

"  But,  really.  .  .  ." 

"  What  a  woman!  Even  honours  don't  move 
her!  .  .  .  ." 

At  last  Vasilisa  consented,  threw  a  kerchief 
over  her  head,  and  went  off  in  company  with 
Onisim. 

"  Stand  here  a  bit,  in  the  anteroom,"— he  said 
to  her,  when  they  reached  PyetushkofF's  quar- 
ters,— "  and  I  '11  go  and  announce  to  the  mas- 
ter  " 

He  entered  Ivan  Afanasievitch's  room. 

Pyetushkoff  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  with  both  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets, 
with  his  legs  straddled  to  an  exaggerated  degree 
and  rocking  slowly  backward  and  forward.  His 
face  was  flaming,  his  eyes  were  beaming. 

"  Good  morning,  Onisim,"— he  lisped  in  a 
friendly  way,  pronouncing  the  consonants  of  his 
words  very  badly  and  languidly: — "  Good  morn- 
ing, my  good  fellow.  While  thou  wert  gone,  I 
.  .  .  .  he,  he,  he!  " — Pyetushkofl*  began  to  laugh 
and  peck  forward  with  his  nose. — "  Really,  now, 
he,  he,  he!  ...  .  However," — he  added,  striv- 
ing to  assume  a  dignified  mien :— "  I  'm  all  right." 
—He  tried  to  lift  one  leg,  but  came  near  toppling 
over  and,  by  way  of  putting  a  good  face  on  the 
matter,  he  said  in  a  bass  voice: — "  Man,  give  me 
my  pipe! " 

245 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Onisim  stared  in  amazement  at  his  master,  and 
glanced  around.  .  .  .  On  the  window-sill  stood 
an  empty,  dark-green  bottle  with  the  label: 
"  The  Best  Jamaica  Rum." 

"  I  have  drunk  it,  brother,  and  that  's  all," — 
went  on  Pyetushkoff, — "  I  took  and  drank  it, 
and  that  's  all  there  is  to  say.  And  where  hast 
thou  been?  tell  me  .  .  .  don't  be  ashamed  .  .  . 
tell  me.    Thou  narratest  well." 

"  Good  gracious,  Ivan  Afanasievitch,"— 
roared  Onisim. 

"  So  be  it.  And  so  be  it.  And  I  forgive  my 
dear  one,  my  dear  one," — returned  Pyetushkoff, 
with  a  vague  wave  of  his  hand.  "  I  forgive 
everybody,  I  forgive  thee,  and  I  forgive  Vasilisa, 
and  everybody,  I  forgive  everybody.  But  I  've 
drunk  it,  brother.  .  .  .  I  've  dru-unk  it,  brother. 
.  .  .  What  's  that? " — he  suddenly  cried,  point- 
ing at  the  door  of  the  anteroom :  "  Who  's  there? " 

"  There  's  nobody  there,"— hastily  replied  Oni- 
sim.— "  Who  should  be  there?  .  .  .  Where  are 
you  going?" 

"  No,  no," — repeated  Pyetushkoff,  wresting 
himself  from  Onisim's  hands:—"  Let  me  go,— I 
saw,— don't  tell  me,— I  saw  there,— let  me  go. 
.  .  .  .  Vasilisa!" — he  suddenly  shrieked. 

Pyetushkoff  turned  pale. 

"  Well  ....  Well,  why  dost  not  thou  come 
in?  "—he  began  at  last.—"  Come  in,  Vasilisa, 
come  in!    I  'm  very  glad  to  see  thee,  Vasilisa." 

246 


PYETUSHKOFF 

Vasilisa  looked  at  Onisim— and  entered  the 
room.  Pyetushkoff  approached  her.  .  .  .  He 
was  breathing  deeply  and  at  long  intervals.  Oni- 
sim watched  them.  Vasilisa  cast  timorous,  side- 
long glances  at  both  of  them. 

"  Sit  down,  Vasilisa,"— began  Ivan  Afanasie- 
vitch  again:— "I  thank  thee  for  coming.  Ex- 
cuse me,  if  I  ...  .  how  shall  I  say  it?  .  .  . 
that  I  am  in  such  an  unseemly  state.  I  could  not 
foresee  this,  I  could  n't  possibly,  you  must  agree 
to  that.  Come,  sit  down  here,  on  the  divan.  .  .  . 
I  think  I  am  expressing  myself  correctly?  " 

Vasilisa  sat  down. 

"  Well,  good  morning,"— went  on  Pyetush- 
koff.— "  And  how  art  thou  getting  along?  What 
nice  things  hast  thou  been  doing?  " 

"  I  'm  well,  thank  God,  Ivan  Afanasievitch. 
And  how  are  you?  " 

"I?  as  thou  seest!  Killed!  And  killed  by 
whom?  Killed  by  thee,  Vasilisa.  But  I  'm  not 
angry  with  thee.  Only,  I  'm  killed.  Just  ask 
this  man  here."  (He  pointed  at  Onisim.)  "  Don't 
mind  if  I  am  drunk.  I  am  drunk,  that  's  a  fact ; 
only,  I  'm  killed.  I  'm  drunk  because  I  'm  killed." 

"  God  have  mercy,  Ivan  Afanasievitch!  " 

"  Killed,  Vasilisa,  I  tell  thee.  Do  thou  believe 
me.  I  have  never  deceived  thee.  Well,  and  how 
is  thy  aunt? " 

"  Well,  Ivan  Afanasievitch.    Many  thanks." 

Pyetushkoff  began  to  stagger  violently. 

247 


PYETUSHKOFF 

"  But  you  are  ill  to-day,  Ivan  Afanasievitch. 
You  ought  to  go  to  bed." 

"  No,  I  'm  well,  Vasilisa.  No,  don't  say  that 
I  'm  not  well ;  but  say,  rather,  that  I  have  plunged 
into  vice,  that  I  have  lost  my  morality.  That 
would  be  just.    I  should  not  dispute  that." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  swayed  backward.  Onisim 
sprang  forward  and  supported  his  master. 

"  And  who  's  to  blame?  I  '11  tell  thee,  if  thou 
wishest,  who  's  to  blame;  shall  I? 

"  I  am  to  blame,  I,  first  of  all.  What  ought 
I  to  have  done?  I  ought  to  have  said  to  thee: 
'  Vasilisa,  I  love  thee.'  Well,  good.  Come,  wilt 
thou  marry  me?  Wilt  thou?  'T  is  true  that  thou 
art  of  the  burgher  class,  let  us  say;  but  that  is 
nothing.  That  sort  of  thing  is  done.  There  was 
an  acquaintance  of  mine,  for  example:  he  also 
married  in  that  way.  He  took  a  Finnish  woman. 
He  went  and  married  her.  And  thou  wouldst 
have  been  well  oiF  with  me.  I  am  a  kind  man,  God 
is  my  witness,  I  am!  Thou  must  not  mind  if  I 
am  drunk,  but  rather  do  thou  look  into  my  heart. 
Here,  now,  ask  this  ....  man.  So  it  turns  out 
that  I  am  the  guilty  person.  But  now,  of  course, 
I  am  killed." 

Ivan  Afanasievitch  grew  more  and  more  in 
need  of  Onisim's  support. 

"  And,  nevertheless,  't  was  a  sin  on  thy  part,  a 
great  sin.  I  loved  thee,  I  revered  thee,  I  .  .  .  . 
what  did  I  not  do?    And  even  now  I  'm  ready 

248 


I 


PYETUSHKOFF 

to  be  married  this  very  minute.  Wilt  thou?  Only 
say  so,  and  we  '11  be  married  immediately.  Only 
thou  hast  mortally  wounded  my  feelings  .... 
mortally.  Thou  mightest  have  refused  me  thy- 
self, or  through  thy  aunt,  through  that  horrible 
fat  woman.  For  thou  wert  my  only  joy.  For  I 
am  a  homeless  man,  a  poor,  lonely  orphan! 
Whom  can  I  persuade  to  love  me  now?  Who  is 
there  to  say  a  kind  word  to  me  ?  For  I  'm  a  poor, 
lonely  man,— a  full  orphan,— as  poor  as  a  church 
mouse.  Ask  thi  .  .  .  ."  Ivan  Afanasievitch  fell 
to  weeping. — "  Vasilisa,  hearken  to  what  I  have 
to  say  to  thee," — he  went  on: — "  permit  me  to  go 
to  thee  as  of  yore.  Be  not  afraid  ....  I  will 
be  very  discreet.  Do  thou  go  to  whomsoever  thou 
wishest,  I  won't  mind:  just  that,  without  re- 
proaches, seest  thou.  Come,  dost  thou  consent? 
Wouldst  thou  like  to  have  me  go  down  on  my 
knees?"— (And  Ivan  Afanasievitch  began  to 
bend  his  knees,  but  Onisim  caught  him  under 
the  arm-pits. )  —  "  Let  me  go !  'T  is  no  business  of 
thine!  'T  is  a  question  of  the  happiness  of  a 
whole  life,  dost  understand?  And  thou  art  in 
the  way.  .  .  ." 

Vasilisa  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"Thou  wilt  not  .  .  .  Well,  as  thou  seest  fit! 
God  bless  thee!  In  that  case,  farewell!  Fare- 
well, Vasilisa.  I  wish  thee  all  happiness  and 
prosperity  ....  and  I  .  .  .  .  and  I  .  .  .  ." 

And  PyetushkoiF  wept  in  torrents.   Onisim 

249 


PYETUSHKOFF 

held  him  up  from  behind  with  all  his  might  .  .  . 
first  making  a  very  wry  face,  then  beginning  to 
cry  himself.  .  .  .  And  Vasilisa  wept  also. 

XI 

Ten  years  later,  one  could  encounter  on  the 
streets  of  the  town  of  O***  a  thin  man  with  a 
small,  red  nose,  clad  in  an  old  green  coat  with 
a  greasy  velveteen  collar.  He  occupied  a  tiny 
garret  in  the  bake-shop  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted. Praskovya  Ivanovna  was  no  longer 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  Her  niece,  Vasilisa, 
managed  the  business,  assisted  by  her  husband, 
a  red-haired,  purblind  petty  burgher  named 
Demof ont.  The  man  in  the  green  coat  had  one 
weakness:  he  was  fond  of  getting  drunk,  but  he 
behaved  himself  peaceably,  nevertheless.  My 
readers  have,  probably,  recognised  in  him  Ivan 
Afanasievitch. 


250 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

(1853) 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

IN  the  spring  of  184.  .,  Boris  Andreitch  Vya- 
zovnin,  a  young  man  of  six-and-twenty,  ar- 
rived at  his  hereditary  estate,  situated  in  one  of 
the  Governments  of  the  central  zone  of  Russia. 
He  had  only  just  retired  from  the  service, — "  ow- 
ing to  family  circumstances,"— and  was  intend- 
ing to  occupy  himself  with  the  management  of 
his  property.  A  happy  thought,  of  course! 
Only  Boris  Andreitch  conceived  it,  as  is  gene- 
rally the  case,  against  his  own  will.  His  revenues 
were  diminishing  year  by  j'^ear,  his  debts  were 
increasing:  he  had  become  convinced  of  the  im- 
possibility of  remaining  in  the  service,  of  living  in 
the  capital, — in  a  word,  of  living  as  he  had  lived 
hitherto,  and  he  had  decided,  most  reluctantly,  to 
devote  several  years  to  imjoroving  those  "  family 
circumstances,"  thanks  to  which  he  suddenly 
found  himself  in  the  rural  wilds. 

Vyazovnm  found  his  estate  in  disorder,  his 
manor  neglected,  the  house  almost  falling  to  ruin ; 
he  changed  his  superintendent,  and  reduced  the 
number  of  house-serfs;  he  cleaned  out  two  or 
three  rooms,  and  ordered  new  boards  to  be  ap- 

253 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

plied  at  points  where  the  roof  leaked;  but  he 
undertook  no  harsh  measures,  and  did  not  plan 
any  improvements,  as  the  result  of  the,  appar- 
ently, simple  idea  that  one  should  first  find  out, 
at  least,  what  he  wants  to  improve.  .  .  .  So,  then, 
he  set  to  work  to  learn  about  farming,  and  began, 
as  the  saying  is,  by  penetrating  into  the  core  of 
the  matter.  It  must  be  admitted  that  he  pene- 
trated into  the  core  of  the  matter  without  any 
special  ardour,  and  without  haste.  Being  unac- 
customed to  the  country,  he  was  terribly  bored, 
and  often  could  not  imagine  how  and  where  he 
was  to  pass  the  whole  long  day.  He  had  a  good 
many  neighbours,  but  he  did  not  consort  with 
them — not  because  he  avoided  them,  but  simply, 
because  he  did  not  happen  to  come  in  contact  with 
them.  At  last,  when  autumn  had  already  come, 
he  chanced  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  of  his 
nearest  neighbours. 

This  neighbour's  name  was  Piotr  Vasilitch 
Krupitzyn.  He  had  formerly  served  in  the  cav- 
alry, and  had  retired  with  the  rank  of  lieutenant. 
Between  his  peasants  and  Vyazovnin's  peasants, 
from  time  immemorial,  a  controversy  had  raged 
over  two  and  a  half  desyatinas  of  mowing-land. 
They  not  infrequently  came  to  blows;  the  hay- 
ricks mysteriously  travelled  from  place  to  place; 
various  unpleasantnesses  occurred;  and,  in  all 
probability,  this  quarrel  would  have  continued  for 
many  years  more,  had  not  Krupitzyn,  on  learning 

254 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

indirectly  of  Boris  Andreitch's  pacific  qualities, 
gone  to  him  for  a  personal  conference.  The  re- 
sults of  this  conference  were  very  agreeable.  In 
the  first  place,  the  matter  was  settled  forthwith 
and  forever,  to  the  mutual  satisfaction  of  the 
property-owners;  and,  in  the  second  place,  they 
took  a  great  hking  to  each  other,  began  to  see 
each  other  frequently,  and  by  winter,  they  had 
already  become  so  intimate  that  they  were  hardly 
ever  separated. 

And,  nevertheless,  they  had  very  little  in  com- 
mon. Vyazovnin  as  a  man  who,  although  not 
wealthy  himself,  was  the  son  of  wealthy  parents, 
had  received  a  good  education,  had  studied  at 
the  university,  knew  various  languages,  was  fond 
of  occupying  himself  with  the  perusal  of  books, 
and,  in  general,  might  be  regarded  as  a  cultivated 
man.  Krupitzyn,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  French 
indifferently,  never  took  a  book  in  his  hand  with- 
out some  special  need,  and  belonged  rather  to 
the  category  of  uneducated  men.  In  external 
appearance  also  the  friends  bore  but  little  resem- 
blance to  each  other :  Vyazovnin  was  quite  tall  of 
stature,  slender,  fair-haired,  and  looked  like  an 
Englishman,  kept  his  person,  particularly  his 
hands,  very  clean,  dressed  elegantly,  and  wore 
dandified  neckcloths  ....  habits  of  the  capital ! 
Krupitzyn,  on  the  contrary,  was  short  of  stature, 
round-shouldered,  swarthy,  black-haired,  and 
went  about  winter  and  summer  in  a  sort  of  sack- 

2.55 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

overcoat,  with  protruding  pockets,  made  of  cloth 
of  a  bronze  hue. 

"  I  like  this  colour," — he  was  wont  to  say, — 
"  because  it  does  n't  show  spots." 

That  colour  really  did  not  soil  easily,  but  the 
cloth  itself  was  pretty  well  besprinkled  with  spots, 
nevertheless.  Vyazovnin  was  fond  of  good  eat- 
ing, and  liked  to  talk  about  how  agreeable  it  was 
to  have  good  food,  and  what  it  meant  to  have 
taste;  Krupitzyn  ate  everything  which  was  set 
before  him,  so  long  as  he  had  something  for  his 
jaws  to  work  upon.  If  it  happened  to  be  cab- 
bage-soup with  buckwheat  groats,  he  ladled  up 
the  soup  with  pleasure,  and  devoured  the  buck- 
wheat groats ;  if  he  was  offered  thin  foreign  soup, 
he  applied  himself  with  equal  readiness  to  the 
soup,  and  if  there  happened  to  be  any  buckwheat 
groats  on  hand,  he  poured  it  into  his  plate,— and 
it  was  all  right.  He  loved  kvas,  according  to  his 
own  expression,  "  like  his  own  father."  French 
wines,  which  he  called  "  sour  stuff,"  he  could  not 
endure,  especially  claret.  Altogether,  Krupitzyn 
was  very  far  from  being  fastidious,  while  Vya- 
zovnin changed  his  pocket-handkerchief  twice  a 
day.  In  a  word,  the  friends,  as  we  have  said 
above,  did  not  resemble  each  other.  One  thing 
they  had  in  common:  they  were  both  what  is 
called  "  nice  young  fellows,  simple  lads."  Kru- 
pitzyn had  been  born  so,  and  Vyazovnin  had  be- 
come so.    In  addition  to  this,  both  of  them  were 

256 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

distinguished  by  the  fact  that  neither  hked  any- 
thing in  particular,— that  is  to  say,  had  no  par- 
ticular passion  or  predilection  for  anything. 
Krupitzyn  was  seven  or  eight  years  older  than 
Vyazovnin. 

Their  days  passed  in  a  rather  monotonous  man- 
ner. As  a  rule,  in  the  morning,  but  not  too  early, 
— about  nine  o'clock,  —  Boris  Andreitch  was  al- 
ready sitting  at  the  window,  in  a  handsome  dress- 
ing-gown open  on  the  breast,  with  his  hair 
brushed,  all  washed,  in  a  snow-white  shirt,  with  a 
book  and  a  cup  of  tea.  The  door  opened,  and 
Piotr  Vasilitch  entered  in  his  customary  untidy 
condition.  His  hamlet  lay  only  half  a  verst  from 
Vyazovna  (that  w^as  the  name  of  Boris  Andre- 
itch's  estate).  Moreover,  Piotr  Vasilitch  fre- 
quently stayed  over  night  with  Boris  Andreitch. 

"  Ah,  good  morning!  " — they  both  said  simul- 
taneously.    "  How  did  you  sleep?  " 

And  thereupon  Fediiishka  (an  urchin  of 
eleven  years,  garbed  as  a  page,  whose  very  hair, 
which  stood  on  end  even  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
like  a  sandpiper's  feathers  in  springtime,  had 
a  sleepy  air)  brought  Piotr  Vasilitch  his  dress- 
ing-gown of  Bukhara  stuff,  and  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch, after  a  preliminary  grunt,  donned  the 
dressing-gown,  and  began  on  his  tea  and  his  pipe. 
Then  conversation  began — leisurely  conversa- 
tion, with  pauses  and  rests.  They  talked  about 
the  weather,  about  the  preceding  dajs  about  field 

2.57 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

labours  and  the  price  of  grain;  they  also  talked 
about  the  landed  gentry  of  the  vicinity,  male  and 
female.  In  the  early  days  of  his  acquaintance- 
ship with  Boris  Andreitch,  Piotr  Vasilitch  had 
regarded  it  as  his  duty,  and  had  even  delighted 
in  the  chance,  to  interrogate  his  neighbour  con- 
cerning the  life  of  the  capital,  concerning  science 
and  culture  in  general, — and  concerning  lofty 
topics  as  a  whole.  Boris  Andreitch's  replies  had 
interested  him,  frequently  surprised  him,  and  ar- 
rested his  attention;  but,  at  the  same  time,  they 
had  caused  him  some  fatigue,  so  that  all  such  con- 
versations speedily  came  to  an  end;  and  Boris 
Andreitch  himself,  on  his  side,  did  not  display 
any  superfluous  anxiety  to  renew  them.  Occa- 
sionally thereafter — and  that  at  rare  intervals — 
Piotr  Vasilitch  would  suddenly  ask  Boris  Andre- 
itch, for  instance,  "  what  sort  of  a  thing  is  the 
electrical  telegraph?"  and  after  listening  to 
Boris  Andreitch's  not  entirely  lucid  explanation, 
he  would  say,  after  a  pause:  "  Yes,  that  's  won- 
derful! "  and  for  a  long  time  thereafter  he  would 
not  inquire  about  any  learned  subject  whatso- 
ever. The  conversations  between  them  were 
mostly  of  the  following  nature.  Piotr  Vasilitch, 
for  example,  would  collect  the  smoke  from  his 
pipe,  and  emitting  it  through  his  nostrils,  would 
inquire : 

"  What 's  that  new  girl  you  've  got?    I  saw  her 
at  the  back  door,  Boris  Andreitch?  " 

258 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Boris  Andreitch,  in  his  turn,  would  raise  his 
cigar  to  his  mouth,  take  a  couple  of  puffs,  and 
after  swallowing  a  sip  of  cold  tea,  would  articu- 
late : 

"  What  new  girl?  " 

Piotr  Vasilitch  would  bend  somewhat  to  one 
side,  and  staring  through  the  window  into  the 
courtyard,  where  a  dog  had  just  bitten  a  bare- 
legged urchin  on  the  calf,  would  reply: 

"  The  very  fair-haired  one  .  .  .  quite  pretty." 

"  Ah!  "—Boris  Andreitch  would  exclaim,  after 
a  brief  pause: — "  that 's  my  new  laundress." 

"Where  does  she  come  from?"  — asks  Piotr 
Vasilitch,  as  though  surprised. 

"  From  Moscow.  She  has  been  there  for 
training." 

And  then  both  are  silent  for  a  while. 

"  And  how  many  laundresses  have  you  in  all, 
Boris  Andreitch?  " — asks  Piotr  Vasilitch,  staring 
attentively  at  the  tobacco  which  is  flashing  with 
a  crisp,  crackling  noise  under  the  hot  ashes  in  his 
pipe. 

"  Three," — replies  Boris  Andreitch. 

"  Three!  I  have  only  one.  And  that  one  has 
hardly  anything  to  do.  You  know  yourself,  I 
think,  how  much  washing  I  have !  " 

"  H'm!  "—replies  Boris  Andreitch. 

And  the  conversation  ceases  for  a  time. 

In  these  pursuits  the  morning  passed,  and 
breakfast-time  arrived;  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  par- 

259 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

ticularly  fond  of  his  breakfast,  and  insisted  that 
twelve  o'clock  is  the  very  hour  when  a  man  feels 
hungry;  and,  in  fact,  at  that  hour,  he  ate  so 
cheerily,  with  such  healthy  and  agreeable  appe- 
tite, that  even  a  German  would  have  rejoiced  at 
the  sight  of  him:  so  glorious  a  breakfast  did 
Piotr  Vasilitch  make !  Boris  Andreitch  ate  much 
less;  he  was  satisfied  with  a  chicken  cutlet,  or  a 
couple  of  soft-boiled  eggs  with  butter  and  some 
English  sauce  in  an  artfully  constructed  and 
patented  vessel,  for  which  he  had  paid  a  heavy 
price,  and  which  he  privately  considered  disgust- 
ing, although  he  asserted  that  he  could  not  eat 
a  single  morsel  without  it.  After  breakfast  the 
two  friends  made  the  round  of  the  farm,  if  the 
weather  was  good,  or  simply  took  a  stroll,  and 
looked  to  see  how  the  young  horses  were  coming 
on  with  their  training,  and  so  forth.  Sometimes 
they  went  as  far  as  Piotr  Vasilitch's  hamlet,  and 
once  in  a  while,  they  dropped  into  his  little 
house. 

This  little  house,  tiny  and  rickety,  bore  more 
resemblance  to  the  plain  hovel  of  a  house-serf 
than  to  the  homestead  of  a  landed  proprietor.  On 
the  straw  thatch,  riddled  all  the  way  around  with 
the  nests  of  swallows  and  daws,  grew  green  moss ; 
of  the  two  buildings  constructed  of  aspen  logs, 
formerly  fitted  together,  one  had  fallen  back- 
ward, and  the  other  was  nodding  sideways,  and 
had  sunk  into  the  ground :  in  a  word,  Piotr  Vasi- 

260 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

litch's  house  was  wretched  both  outside  and  in. 
But  Piotr  Vasilitch  did  not  fall  into  despon- 
dency: being  a  bachelor,  and  in  general  not  an 
exacting  man,  he  took  little  heed  of  the  comforts 
of  life,  and  contented  himself  with  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  place  where  he  could  take  refuge,  in 
case  of  need,  from  stormy  weather  and  cold.  His 
housekeeper,  Makedoniya,  a  woman  of  middle 
age,  very  zealous  and  even  honest,  but  unlucky, 
looked  after  his  household:  but  nothing  suc- 
ceeded with  her;  the  crockery  got  smashed,  the 
linen  got  torn,  the  food  was  under-cooked  or 
over-cooked.  Piotr  Vasilitch  called  her  Caligula. 
Being  possessed  of  an  innate  inclination  for 
hospitality,  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  fond  of  seeing 
guests  at  his  house,  and  of  entertaining  them,  not- 
withstanding the  scantiness  of  his  means.  He 
made  special  efforts,  and  bustled  more  than  usual 
when  Boris  Andreitch  visited  him;  but,  thanks 
to  Makedoniya,  who,  moreover,  nearly  flew  off 
her  feet  at  every  step  with  zeal,  poor  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch's  entertainments  always  turned  out  ex- 
tremely ill-starred,  and  were  chiefly  confined  to 
a  morsel  of  the  raw-dried  back  of  sturgeon,  hard- 
ened with  age,  and  a  glass  of  vodka,  concerning 
which  he  expressed  himself  with  entire  justice 
when  he  said  that  it  was  capital  against  the  stom- 
ach. After  a  stroll,  the  two  friends  were  wont 
to  return  to  Boris  Andreitch's  house  and  dine  in 
leisurely  fashion.    After  having  eaten  as  heartily 

261 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

as  though  he  had  had  no  breakfast,  Piotr  Vasi- 
htch  would  take  himself  off  to  some  solitary  nook 
and  sleep  two  or  three  hours;  Boris  Andreitch, 
during  that  interval,  read  the  foreign  newspa- 
pers. In  the  evening,  the  two  friends  met  to- 
gether again :  such  friendship  had  sprung  up  be- 
tween them!  Sometimes  they  sat  down  to  play 
at  preference,  just  the  two  by  themselves;  some- 
times they  simply  chatted  in  the  same  manner 
as  in  the  morning;  and  it  sometimes  happened 
that  Piotr  Vasilitch  would  take  his  guitar  from 
the  wall,  and  sing  various  romances  in  a  fairly 
agreeable  tenor  voice.  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  much 
fonder  of  music  than  was  Boris  Andreitch,  who 
could  not  utter  the  name  of  Beethoven  without 
enthusiasm,  and  who  was  perpetually  making 
ready  to  order  a  piano  from  Moscow.  In  mo- 
ments of  sadness  or  dejection,  Piotr  Vasilitch  had 
a  habit  of  singing  a  romance  which  dated  from 
the  days  of  his  service  with  his  regiment.  .  .  . 
With  particular  feeling,  and  somewhat  through 
his  nose,  he  would  warble  the  following  lines: 

"No  Frenchman  runs  our  kitchen, 
But  an  orderly  cooks  our  dinner.  .  .  . 
The  splendid  Rode  does  not  act, 

Catalani  does  not  sing.  .  .  . 
The  trumpeter  deftly  sounds  tattoo, 
The  quartermaster  will  come  with  his  report,'^ 

262 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Boris  Andreitch  now  and  then  chimed  in,  but 
his  voice  was  disagreeable  and  not  true  to  pitch. 
About  ten  o'clock,  and  sometimes  earlier,  the 
friends  separated  ....  and  on  the  following 
day,  the  same  thing  began  all  over  again. 

So  then,  one  day,  as  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  sitting, 
according  to  his  wont,  opposite  Boris  Andreitch, 
in  a  somewhat  oblique  line,  he  stared  at  him  with 
a  good  deal  of  intentness,  and  said  in  a  thought- 
ful voice: 

*'  I  'm  surprised  at  one  thing,  Boris  Andre- 
itch. .  .  ." 

"What  's  that?"— asked  the  latter. 

"  This.  You  are  a  young  man,  clever,  cul- 
tured: what  possesses  you  to  live  in  the  country?  " 

Boris  Andreitch  gazed  in  astonishment  at  his 
neighbour. 

*'  Surely  you  are  aware,  Piotr  Vasilitch," — he 
said  at  last, — "  that  if  it  were  not  for  my  circum- 
stances. .  .  .  Circumstances  compel  me,  Piotr 
VasiHtch." 

"  Circumstances?  Your  circumstances  don't 
count,  so  far.  .  .  .  With  your  estate  you  can 
exist.    Get  a  position  in  the  service." 

And  after  a  brief  pause,  Piotr  Vasilitch  added : 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  enter  the 
uhlans." 

"  The  uhlans?  Why  the  uhlans  in  particu- 
lar? " 

263 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Because  it  seems  to  me  it  would  be  more  fit- 
ting for  you  in  the  uhlans." 

"  But  excuse  me,  you  yourself  served  in  the 
hussars,  did  you  not? " 

"I?  Of  course  I  did,"— replied  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch  with  animation, — "  and  in  what  a  regi- 
ment! You  '11  not  find  another  such  regiment 
in  all  the  world!  'T  was  a  regiment  of  gold! 
The  commanding  officers,  my  comrades — what 
men  they  were!  But  you  ...  I  don't  know 
why  .  .  .  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  ought 
to  enter  the  uhlans.  You  are  fair  of  com- 
plexion, and  you  have  a  slender  figure:  it  all 
fits  in." 

"  But  excuse  me,  Piotr  Vasilitch,  you  forget 
that,  by  virtue  of  the  military  regulations,  I 
should  have  to  begin  with  the  rank  of  yunker. 
At  my  age  that  is  somewhat  embarrassing.  I 
believe  it  is  even  prohibited." 

"  That  's  a  fact," — remarked  Piotr  Vasilitch, 
and  dropped  his  eyes. — "  Well,  then,  in  that  case, 
get  married,"  he  suddenly  ejaculated,  raising  his 
head. 

"  Why,  what  a  queer  turn  of  thought  you  have 
to-day,  Piotr  Vasilitch!"  exclaimed  Boris  An- 
dreitch. 

"  Why  is  it  queer?  What  's  the  use,  in  fact, 
of  living  on  like  this  ?  What  are  you  waiting  for  ? 
You  're  only  wasting  time.  I  want  to  know  what 
profit  you  will  derive  from  not  marrying? " 

264. 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 


« 


But  profit  is  not  the  point," — began  Boris 
Andreitch. 

"  No,  permit  me," — Piotr  Vasilitch  interrupted 
him,  unexpectedly  flying  into  a  passion. — "  It  's 
amazing  to  me  how  afraid  the  young  men  of  the 
present  day  are  of  marriage!  I  simply  cannot 
understand  it.  You  must  n't  mind  my  not  being 
married,  Boris  Andreitch.  Perhaps  I  have 
wished  it,  and  have  proposed  it,  and  that  's  what 
they  did  to  me." 

And  here  Piotr  Vasilitch  elevated  the  fore- 
finger of  his  right  hand,  with  its  exterior  turned 
toward  Boris  Andreitch. 

*'  And  with  your  property,  how  can  you  help 
marrying?  " 

Boris  Andreitch  gazed  attentively  at  Piotr 
Vasilitch. 

"  Is  it  a  cheerful  matter,  pray,  to  lead  a  bache- 
lor life?  "—went  on  Piotr  Vasilitch.—"  Eka, 
what  a  marvel!  here  's  mirth  for  j^ou!  .  .  . 
Really,  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  amaze 
me." 

And  Piotr  Vasilitch  with  irritation  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  Turkish  pipe  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair,  and  blew  into  the  tchubuk. 

*'  But  who  told  you,  Piotr  Vasilitch,  that  I  do 
not  intend  to  marry? "  said  Boris  Andreitch, 
slowly. 

Piotr  Vasilitch  stopped  short,  motionless,  just 
as    he   was,    with    his    fingers    thrust    into    his 

265 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

tobacco-pouch  of  dark-red  velvet  embroidered 
with  spangles.  Boris  Andreitch's  words  sur- 
prised him. 

"  Yes,"— went  on  Boris  Andreitch:— "  I  am 
ready  to  marry.  Find  me  a  bride,  and  I  will 
marry." 

"Truly?" 

"  Truly." 

"No,  by  God?" 

"  What  ails  you,  Piotr  Vasilitch?  By  God,  I  'm 
not  jesting." 

Piotr  Vasilitch  filled  his  pipe. 

"  Well,  look  out  for  yourself,  Boris  Andreitch. 
You  shall  have  a  bride." 

"Very  good,"— returned  Boris  Andreitch: — 
"  but  hearken  to  me— why,  in  reality,  do  you  wish 
to  get  me  married?  " 

"  Why,  because,  as  I  look  at  you,  you  have  no 
capacity  for  doing  nothing." 

Boris  Andreitch  smiled. 

"  On  the  contrary,  up  to  this  moment  it  has 
struck  me  that  I  am  a  master-hand  at  that." 

"  You  don't  understand  me  rightly,"— said 
Piotr  Vasilitch,  and  changed  the  conversation. 

Two  days  later,  Piotr  Vasilitch  presented  him- 
self before  his  neighbour,  not  in  his  habitual 
paletot-sack,  but  in  a  frock-coat,  black  as  the 
raven's  wing,  with  a  high  waist,  tiny  buttons  and 
long  sleeves.  Piotr  Vasilitch's  moustache  looked 
almost  black  with  dye,  and  his  hair,  tightly  curled 

266 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

in  front,  in  the  shape  of  two  long  sausages,  glis- 
tened brightly  with  pomade.  A  big  velvet  stock 
with  a  satin  band  tightly  compressed  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch's  throat  and  imparted  a  solemn  immobility 
and  a  festive  mien  to  the  entire  upper  portion  of 
his  body. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  toilet?"— in- 
quired Boris  Andreitch. 

"  The  meaning  of  this  toilet,"— replied  Piotr 
Vasilitch,  sinking  into  an  arm-chair,  but  not  with 
his  customary  free-and-easy  manner, — "  is  that 
you  are  to  order  the  calash  to  be  harnessed  up. 
We  are  going  for  a  drive." 
Whither? " 
To  the  bride." 
To  what  bride?" 

Why,  have  you  forgotten  already  what  you 
and  I  were  talking  about  three  days  ago?  " 

Boris  Andreitch  burst  out  laughing,  but  in  his 
soul  he  was  disconcerted. 

"  Good  gracious!  Piotr  Vasilitch,— why,  that 
was  only  a  joke." 

"  A  joke?  Did  n't  you  swear  at  the  time  that 
you  were  not  jesting?  No,  excuse  me,  Boris 
Andreitch,  but  you  must  keep  your  word.  I  have 
already  taken  the  proper  measures." 

Boris  Andreitch  was  more  disconcerted  than 
ever. 

"But  what  measures  are  you  referring  to?" 
he  asked. 

267 


(( 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Oh,  don't  you  worry.  .  .  .  What  do  you 
think !  I  have  only  warned  one  of  our  lady  neigh- 
bours, a  most  charming  person,  that  you  and  I 
intend  to  call  upon  her  to-day." 

"  What  neighbour  is  that?  " 

"  Wait,  and  you  will  find  out.  Here,  now,  first 
dress  yourself,  and  order  the  horses  to  be  har- 
nessed." 

Boris  Andreitch  cast  an  irresolute  glance 
around  him. 

"  Really,  Piotr  Vasilitch,  I  don't  know  what 
possesses  you  ....  just  see  what  the  weather 
is  like." 

"Never  mind  the  weather;  it  's  always  like 
that." 

"  And  have  we  far  to  go?  " 

"  Fifteen  versts." 

Boris  Andreitch  said  nothing  for  a  while. 

*'  But  we  might  breakfast  first,  at  least!  " 

"  Breakfast  is  all  right — we  can  do  that.  Do 
you  know  what,  Boris  Andreitch:  go  and  dress 
yourself  now,  and  I  '11  give  all  the  necessary 
orders  without  you;  a  little  vodka,  a  bit  of  dried 
sturgeon — that  does  not  take  long,  and  they  '11 
feed  us  at  our  little  widow's— there  's  no  need  of 
worrying  about  that." 

"Is  she  a  widow?  "—asked  Boris  Andreitch, 
who  was  already  at  the  door  of  his  study,  turning 
round. 

Piotr  Vasilitch  wagged  his  head. 

268 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  You  shall  see,  you  shall  see." 

Boris  Andreitch  left  the  room  and  locked  the 
door  behind  him,  while  Piotr  Vasilitch,  when  he 
was  left  alone,  gave  orders  concerning  both  the 
calash  and  the  breakfast. 

Boris  Andreitch  took  a  pretty  long  time  to 
dress.  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  already  draining  his 
second  glass  of  vodka,  with  a  slight  frown  and  a 
melancholy  expression,  when  Boris  Andreitch 
made  his  appearance  on  the  threshold  of  his 
study.  He  had  taken  great  pains  with  his  toilet. 
He  wore  a  foppishly-cut  capacious  black  coat, 
whose  dull  mass  contrasted  agreeably  with  the 
dull  gleam  of  his  light-grey  trousers,  a  low 
black  stock,  and  a  handsome,  dark-blue  waist- 
coat; a  gold  chain,  fastened  by  a  hook  through 
the  lowest  buttonhole,  lost  itself  modestly  in  a 
side  pocket;  his  thin  boots  squeaked  aristocrat- 
icallj?^,  and  along  with  the  appearance  of  Boris 
Andreitch,  the  odour  of  ess-bouquet  mingled  with 
the  odour  of  fresh  linen  was  disseminated  in  the 
air.  All  that  Piotr  Vasilitch  could  do  was  to 
ejaculate  "  Ah!  " — and  immediately  seize  his  cap. 

Boris  Andreitch  drew  on  his  left  hand  a  grey 
glace-kid  glove,  having  preliminarily  blown 
into  it;  then  with  the  same  hand  he  nervously 
poured  himself  out  a  quarter  of  a  glass  of 
vodka,  and  drank  it;  finally,  he  took  his  hat, 
and  went  out  with  Piotr  Vasilitch  into  the  ante- 
room. 

269 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  I  'm  only  doing  this  for  you,"— said  Boris 
Andreitch,  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the  calash. 

"  Let  us  assume  that  it  is  for  me," — said  Piotr 
Vasilitch,  on  whom  Boris  Andreitch's  elegant 
appearance  was,  obviously,  taking  effect;—"  but 
perhaps  you  will  thank  me  for  yourself." 

And  he  told  the  coachman  how  and  where  to 
drive.    The  calash  rolled  off. 

"  We  are  going  to  Sofya  Kirillovna  Zadnye- 
provsky," — remarked  Piotr  Vasilitch,  after  a 
decidedly  prolonged  interval,  during  the  course  of 
which  both  friends  had  been  sitting  as  motion- 
less as  though  they  were  made  of  stone.—"  Have 
you  heard  about  her?  " 

"I  think  I  have," — replied  Boris  Andreitch.  = 
— "  And  are  you  reserving  her  for  my  bride, 
pray?" 

"  And  why  should  n't  I?  She  is  a  woman  of 
excellent  mind,  with  means,  with  manners  which 
may  be  called  the  manners  of  the  capital.  How- 
ever, you  can  inspect  her  .  .  *  .  that  does  not 
bind  you  to  anything." 

"I  should  think  not!  "—returned  Boris  An- 
dreitch.— "  And  how  old  is  she?  " 

"  Twenty-five  or  twenty-eight — not  more 
than  that.    In  her  very  prime,  as  the  saying  is !  " 

It  was  not  fifteen,  but  a  good  five-and-twenty 
versts  to  Madame  Zadnyeprovsky's,  so  that  Boris 
Andreitch  got  very  thoroughly  chilled  toward 
the  end,  and  kept  hiding  his  reddened  nose  in  the 

270 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

beaver  collar  of  his  cloak.  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  not 
afraid  of  the  cold,  in  general— and,  in  particular, 
when  he  was  dressed  in  festive  attire.  Then  he 
was,  rather,  subject  to  perspiration.  Madame  Za- 
dnyeprovsky's  manor  consisted  of  a  small,  new, 
white  house,  with  a  green  roof,  in  the  style  of  a 
suburban  villa,  in  city  taste,  with  a  small  garden 
and  courtyard.  Such  villas  are  frequently  to  be 
met  with  in  the  environs  of  Moscow ;  in  the  prov- 
inces they  are  more  rarely  encountered.  It  was 
evident  that  Madame  Zadnyeprovsky  had  not 
been  settled  there  long.  The  friends  alighted 
from  the  calash.  On  the  porch  they  were  received 
by  a  footman  in  yellowish-grey  trousers  and  a 
round  grey  frock-coat,  the  buttons  stamped  with 
a  coat  of  arms ;  in  the  anteroom,  which  was  quite 
tidy,  but  with  a  locker-bench,  another  footman  of 
the  same  sort  met  them.  Piotr  Vasilitch  ordered 
the  man  to  announce  him  and  Boris  Andreitch. 
The  lackey  did  not  go  to  his  mistress,  but  re- 
plied that  he  had  orders  to  show  them  in. 

The  guests  put  themselves  to  rights,  and  pass- 
ing through  the  dining-room,  in  which  a  canary- 
bird  was  trilling  in  a  deafening  manner,  they 
entered  the  drawing-room,  filled  with  fashionable 
furniture  from  a  Russian  shop,  very  artful  and 
contorted  in  shape,  under  the  pretext  of  insuring 
the  comfort  of  the  persons  who  should  sit  upon 
it,  but  in  reality  extremely  uncomfortable.  Two 
minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  the  rustle  of  a 

271 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

silken  gown  became  audible  in  the  adjoining 
room;  the  portiere  was  lifted,  and  the  mistress 
of  the  house  entered  the  drawing-room  with  brisk 
steps.  Piotr  Vasilitch  bowed  and  scraped  and 
led  Boris  Andreitch  up  to  her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
and  have  long  wished  to  do  so," — said  the  host- 
ess easily,  as  she  swept  a  swift  glance  over  him 
from  head  to  foot;—"  I  am  very  grateful  to 
Piotr  Vasilitch  for  procuring  me  so  agreeable  an 
acquaintance.    I  beg  that  you  will  be  seated." 

And  the  hostess  seated  herself,  rustling  her 
gown  as  she  did  so,  on  a  low  couch,  leaned 
against  the  back,  stretched  out  her  feet,  shod  in 
very  pretty  little  booj^,  and  crossed  her  hands. 
Her  gown  was  of  green  glace  silk,  with  whitish 
reflections,  and  had  several  rows  of  flounces. 

Boris  Andreitch  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair 
opposite  her;  Piotr  Vasilitch  a  little  farther 
away.  Conversation  began.  Boris  Andreitch 
inspected  Sofya  Kirillovna  with  attention.  She 
was  a  tall,  well-built  woman,  with  a  slender 
waist,  a  dark  skin,  and  quite  handsome.  The  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  and  especially  of  her  eyes, 
which  were  large  and  brilliant,  with  up-lifted  cor- 
ners, such  as  the  Chinese  have,  evinced  a  strange 
mixture  of  daring  and  timidity,  and  could  not 
possibly  be  designated  as  natural.  She  would 
narrow  her  eyes,  then  suddenly  open  them  very 
wide;  and  on  her  lips  there  constantly  hovered 

272 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

a  smile,  which  was  intended  to  appear  indifferent. 
All  Sofya  Kirillovna's  movements  were  very 
free,  almost  abrupt.  Nevertheless,  her  appear- 
ance pleased  Boris  Andreitch;  the  only  thing 
which  affected  him  unpleasantly  was  that  her  hair 
was  parted  on  one  side,  which  gave  to  her  features 
a  bold,  boyish  aspect;  moreover,  she  expressed 
herself  too  purely  and  regularly  in  Russian,  in 
his  opinion.  .  .  .  Boris  Andreitch  shared  the 
view  of  Pushkin,  that — 

As  rosy  lips  without  a  smile, 

So  without  grammatical  errors^ 

it  is  impossible  to  love  the  Russian  language.  In 
a  word,  Sofya  Kirillovna  belonged  to  the  cate- 
gory of  women  who  are  called  by  their  admirers 
"  clever  ladies,"  by  their  husbands  "  pugna- 
cious persons,"  and  by  old  bachelors  "  sprightly 
females." 

The  conversation  turned  fii'st  on  the  tedium 
of  country  hfe. 

"  There  simply  is  n't  a  living  soul  here,  simply 
not  a  single  person  with  whom  to  exchange  a 
word,"— said  Sofya  Kirillovna,  pronouncing  the 
letter  s  with  particular  distinctness.—"  I  cannot 
understand  what  sort  of  people  it  is  who  live 
here.  And  those,"— she  added  with  a  grimace, 
—  "with  whom  one  would  find  acquaintance 
agreeable,  don't  come  to  us;  they  leave  us,  poor 
wretches,  in  our  cheerless  solitude." 

273 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Boris  Andreitch  bent  forward  slightly,  and 
muttered  some  awkward  excuse,  while  Piotr  Va- 
silitch  merely  darted  a  glance  at  him,  as  though 
desirous  of  saying:  "  Well,  what  did  I  tell  you? 
I  don't  think  the  lady  stands  on  ceremony  as  to 
her  words." 

"  Do  you  smoke?  "—asked  Sofya  Kirillovna. 

"  Yes  ....  but  ...  ." 

"  Pray,  smoke  ...  I  do  it  myself." 

And  so  saying,  the  widow  took  from  the  table 
a  fairly  large  cigar-case,  drew  from  it  a  cigarette, 
and  offered  it  to  her  visitors.  Each  visitor  took 
a  cigarette.  Sofya  Kirillovna  rang  and  ordered 
a  small  boy  with  a  red  waistcoat  which  covered 
his  entire  breast,  who  entered,  to  bring  a  light. 
The  urchin  brought  a  wax  taper  in  a  crystal  can- 
dle-stick.    The  cigarettes  began  to  emit  smoke. 

"  Here,  now,  for  instance,  you  would  n't  believe 
it,"— pursued  the  widow,  throwing  her  head 
back  a  little,  and  emitting  smoke  in  a  slender 
stream  upward: — "there  are  people  here  who 
think  that  ladies  ought  not  to  smoke.  And  as 
for  riding  on  horseback,  God  forbid !  they  would 
simply  stone  them  to  death.— Yes,"— she  added, 
after  a  brief  pause,— "  everything  which  stands 
out  above  the  ordinary  level,  everything  which 
breaks  the  law  of  some  fictitious  propriety,  is 
subjected  here  to  the  severest  condemnation." 

"  The  ladies  are  particularly  shrewish  in  that 
line,"— remarked  Piotr  Vasilitch. 

274 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Yes,"— responded  the  widow.—"  'T  is  a  ca- 
lamity for  them  to  get  their  tongues  loosed  on 
you!  However,  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  them;  their  gossip  does  not  penetrate  into 
my  desert  asylum." 

"  And  are  you  not  bored?  "—asked  Boris  An- 
dreitch. 

"  Bored?  No.  I  read.  .  .  .  And  when  I  get 
tired  of  books,  I  meditate;  I  divine  the  future, 
I  put  questions  to  my  Fate." 

"Do  you  really  tell  fortunes?" — asked  Piotr 
Vasilitch. 

The  widow  smiled  indulgently. 

"  And  why  should  n't  I  tell  fortunes?  I  'm 
already  old  enough  for  that." 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  say  that?  "—retorted  Piotr 
Vasilitch. 

Sofya  Kirillovna  gazed  at  him  with  her  eyes 
narrowed. 

"  But  let  us  drop  this  conversation," — said  she, 
and  turned  to  Boris  Andreitch  with  vivacity:— 
"  listen.  Monsieur  Vyazovnm,  I  am  convinced 
that  you  are  interested  in  Russian  literature." 

"  Yes  ....  of  course,  I  .  .  .  ." 

Vyazovnin  was  fond  of  reading,  but  he  read  lit- 
tle, and  that  reluctantly,  in  Russian.  Recent  lit- 
erature, in  particular,  was  unknown  to  him:  he 
had  stopped  at  Pushkin. 

"  Tell  me,  please,  why  Marlinsky  has  become 
so  unpopular  of  late?    In  my  opinion,  that  is  in 

275 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

the  highest  degree  unjust.  What  is  your  opinion 
of  him?  " 

"  Marhnsky  is  a  writer  of  merit,  of  course," 
— replied  Boris  Andreitch. 

"  He  is  a  poet;  he  carries  the  imagination  into 
a  world  ....  into  such  an  enchanting,  wonder- 
ful world;  but  nowadays  people  have  begun  to 
describe  everyday  things.  Well,  good  gracious, 
what  is  there  good  about  everyday  life  here  on 
earth.  ..." 

And  Sofya  Kirillovna  described  a  circle  about 
her  with  her  hand. 

Boris  Andreitch  looked  significantly  at  Sofya 
Kirillovna. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you.  I  think  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  good  here," — he  said,  laying  speciaL 
emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

Sofya  Kirillovna  suddenly  burst  out  into  a 
harsh  sort  of  laugh,  while  Piotr  Vasilitch  as  sud- 
denly raised  his  head,  reflected,  and  set  to  smok- 
ing again.  The  conversation  continued  in  the 
same  way  in  which  it  had  begun  until  dinner- 
time, skipping  incessantly  from  one  subject  to 
another,  which  does  not  happen  when  a  conver- 
sation becomes  really  interesting.  Among  other 
things,  it  turned  on  marriage,  on  its  advantages 
and  disadvantages,  and  on  the  position  of  woman 
in  general.  Sofya  Kirillovna  stood  up  strongly 
against  marriage,  got  excited  at  last,  and  feel- 
ing conscious  of  ardour,  expressed  herself  very 

276 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

eloquently,  although  her  interlocutors  hardly 
contradicted  her  at  all :  not  without  cause  did  she 
love  MarHnsky.  She  was  also  able  to  resort  to 
ornamentation  of  the  newest  style.  The  words: 
"  artistic,"  "  picturesque,"  "  dependent  on," 
fairly  poured  from  her  mouth. 

"  What  can  be  more  precious  to  a  woman  than 
freedom— freedom  of  thought,  of  feeling,  of  ac- 
tion! "  she  exclaimed  at  last. 

"  But  permit  me,"— Piotr  Vasilitch  inter- 
rupted her;  his  face  had  begun  to  assume  a  dis- 
satisfied expression; — "  what  does  a  woman  want 
with  freedom?    What  will  she  do  with  it? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  what '?  And  is  it 
necessary  to  man,  according  to  your  ideas? 
That  's  it  exactly;  you,  gentlemen  .  .  .  ." 

"  But  it  is  n't  necessary  to  man," — Piotr  Vasi- 
litch interrupted  her  again. 

"  What,— it  is  n't  necessary?  " 

"  Yes,  precisely  that,  it  is  n't  necessary.  What 
does  a  man  want  of  that  lauded  freedom?  When 
a  man  is  free  't  is  a  well-known  fact  that  he 
either  is  bored  or  he  makes  a  fool  of  himself." 

"Consequently,"— remarked  Sofya  Kirillovna, 
with  an  ironical  smile: — "you  are  bored;  there- 
fore, knowing  you  to  be  a  sensible  man,  I  cannot 
assume  that  you  have  made  a  fool  of  yourself, 
as  you  put  it." 

"  Both  things  happen,"— said  Piotr  Vasilitch, 
calmly. 

277 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  That  's  charming!  However,  I  ought  to  be 
grateful  to  your  boredom  for  giving  me  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  my  house  to-day.  ..." 

And,  pleased  with  the  rather  clever  turn  of  her 
phrase,  the  hostess  threw  herself  back  and  articu- 
lated in  an  undertone: 

"  I  perceive  that  your  friend  is  fond  of  para- 
doxes, Mr.  Vyazovnin." 

"  I  have  not  observed  it,"— replied  Boris  An- 
dreitch. 

"  What  is  it  that  I  am  fond  of?  "—inquired 
Piotr  VasiUtch. 

"  Paradoxes." 

Piotr  Vasihtch  looked  Sofya  KiriUovna 
straight  in  the  eye,  and  made  her  no  reply,  but 
merely  thought  to  himself:  "  I  know  what  thou 
art  fond  of.  .  .  ." 

The  little  boy  with  the  red  waistcoat  entered 
and  announced  that  dinner  was  served. 

"  Do  me  the  favour,"— said  the  hostess,  rising 
from  the  divan. 

And  they  all  went  into  the  dining-room. 

The  guests  did  not  like  the  dinner.  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch  rose  from  the  table  hungry,  although  there 
were  a  great  many  viands ;  and  Boris  Andreitch, 
as  a  judge  of  good  eating,  was  displeased,  al- 
though the  food  was  served  under  pewter  covers, 
and  the  individual  plates  were  served  hot.  The 
wine,  also,  turned  out  to  be  bad,  in  spite  of  the 
magnificent  labels,  adorned  with  gold  and  silver, 

278 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

on  the  bottles.  Sofya  Kirillovna  did  not  cease 
talking, — only  from  time  to  time  she  darted  ex- 
pressive looks  at  the  servants,  and  she  drank  a 
considerable  amount  of  wine,  remarking  as  she 
did  so,  that  in  England  all  the  ladies  take  wine, 
but  here  it  is  considered  indecorous.  After  din- 
ner, the  hostess  invited  Boris  Andreitch  and  Piotr 
Vasilitch  to  return  to  the  drawing-room,  and  in- 
quired of  them  which  they  preferred— coffee  or 
yellow  tea.  Boris  Andreitch  asked  for  tea,  and 
when  he  had  drained  his  cup,  regretted  that  he 
had  not  taken  coffee ;  while  Piotr  Vasilitch  asked 
for  coffee,  and  when  he  had  drained  his  cup,  he 
asked  for  tea,  and  having  tasted  it,  he  set  the 
cup  back  on  the  tray.  The  hostess  seated  herself, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  evidently  was  not  averse 
to  entering  upon  the  most  vivacious  conversation ; 
her  eyes  were  blazing,  and  her  swarthy  cheeks 
glowed  scarlet.  But  the  guests  made  languid 
answers  to  her  bold  speeches,  occupied  themselves 
chiefly  with  smoking,  and,  judging  from  their 
glances,  which  suddenly  became  riveted  on  the 
corners  of  the  room,  were  thinking  of  taking  their 
departure.  However,  Boris  Andreitch  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  consented  to  remain  until 
evening ;  he  was  already  on  the  point  of  entering 
into  a  debate  with  Sofya  Kirillovna  in  answer  to 
her  coquettish  question:  "  Was  not  he  surprised 
at  her  living  alone,  without  a  female  compan- 
ion? "  but  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  plainly  in  haste  to 

279 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

go  home.  He  rose,  went  out  into  the  anteroom, 
and  ordered  the  horses  to  be  put  to.  When,  at 
last,  the  two  friends  began  to  take  their  leave, 
and  the  hostess  began  to  try  to  detain  them,  and 
amiably  to  expostulate  with  them  for  having 
stayed  so  short  a  time  with  her,  Boris  Andreitch, 
with  an  irresolute  inclination  of  his  body,  and  a 
smirking  expression  on  his  face,  showed  that,  at 
all  events,  her  reproaches  were  taking  effect  on 
him;  but  Piotr  Vasilitch,  on  the  contrary,  kept 
muttering:  "  Absolutely  impossible,  ma'am;  't  is 
high  time  we  were  going,  ma'am— business, 
ma'am — 't  is  moonlight  now," — and  backed  ob- 
stinately toward  the  door.  Sofya  KiriUovna  made 
them  promise,  however,  that  they  would  visit  her 
again  in  a  few  days,  and  offered  them  her  hand, 
in  English  fashion.  Boris  Andreitch  alone  ac- 
cepted her  offer,  and  squeezed  her  fingers  fairly 
tight.  She  screwed  up  her  eyes,  and  smiled. 
At  that  moment,  Piotr  Vasilitch  was  already 
thrusting  his  arms  into  his  coat-sleeves  in  the 
anteroom. 

Before  the  calash  had  got  clear  of  the  village, 
he  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  with  the 
exclamation : 

"  She  is  n't  the  thing,  she  is  n't  the  thing— she 
won't  do,  she  is  n't  the  right  thing!  " 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  say?  "—Boris  An- 
dreitch asked  him. 

"  She  is  n't  the  thing,  she  is  n't  the  thing," 

280 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

— repeated  Piotr  Vasilitch,  averting  his  eyes,  and 
turning  slightly  away. 

"  If  you  are  saying  that  about  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna,  I  don't  agree  with  you;  she  is  a  very 
charming  lady, — with   affectations,   but  charm- 

ing." 

"  I  should  think  so!  Of  course,  if  only 
in  order,  for  instance.  .  .  But  with  what  object 
did  I  wish  to  make  you  acquainted  with  her, 
pray?  " 

Boris  Andreitch  did  not  answer. 

"  I  tell  you  again,  she  is  n't  the  thing!  I  see 
that  myself.  I  like  that — the  way  she  speaks 
of  herself:  '  I  'm  an  epicurean.'  Excuse  me;  two 
of  my  teeth  are  missing  on  the  right  side— but  do 
I  talk  about  that?  Everybody  can  see  it  with- 
out any  words  of  mine.  And,  moreover,  what 
sort  of  a  house-wife  is  she?  She  has  nearly 
starved  us  to  death.  No,  in  my  opinion,  be  free 
and  easy,  be  well-read,  if  the  fancy  strikes  you, 
be  stylish,  only  be  a  good  house-wife  first  of  all. 
No,  she  is  n't  the  thing;  she  won't  do;  that  's  not 
the  sort  of  thing  you  need.  You  are  not  to  be 
dazzled  with  red  waistcoats  or  covers  to  the 
dishes." 

"  But  do  you  find  it  necessary  that  I  should  be 
dazzled?  "—inquired  Boris  Andreitch. 

"  I  know  well  what  j^ou  need, — I  know  now." 

"  I  assure  you,  that  I  am  indebted  to  you  for 
introducing  me  to  Sofya  Kirillovna." 

281 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 


(( 


So  much  the  better;  but  she  won't  do,  I  re- 
peat it." 

It  was  late  when  the  friends  reached  home. 
As  Piotr  Vasflitch  parted  from  Boris  Andreitch, 
he  took  his  hand  and  said: 

"  All  the  same,  I  won't  leave  you  in  peace.  I 
won't  give  you  back  your  promise." 

"  Goodness,  I  am  at  your  service," — replied 
Boris  Andreitch. 

"  Well,  that 's  fine." 

And  Piotr  Vasilitch  went  his  way. 

A  whole  week  passed  again  in  the  usual  rou- 
tine, with  this  peculiarity,  however,  that  Piotr 
Vasilitch  absented  himself  somewhere  or  other 
for  an  entire  day.  At  last,  one  morning  he  made 
his  appearance  dressed  in  festal  array,  and  again 
invited  Boris  Andreitch  to  drive  with  him  to  make 
a  call.  Boris  Andreitch,  who  evidently  had  been 
expecting  this  invitation  with  a  certain  amount 
of  impatience,  submitted  without  resistance. 

"  Whither  are  you  taking  me  this  time?  "—he 
asked  Piotr  Vasilitch,  as  he  seated  himself  beside 
him  in  the  sledge. 

Winter  had  had  time  to  close  in  since  their  drive 
to  Sofya  Kirillovna. 

"  I  am  taking  you  now,  Boris  Andreitch," — re- 
plied Piotr  Vasilitch,  with  pauses  between  his 
words, — "  to  a  very  honourable  house— to  the 
Tikhodiieffs'.  It  is  a  highly  respected  family. 
The  old  man  served  as  colonel,  and  is  a  very  fine 

282 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

fellow.  His  wife  is  a  very  fine  woman.  They  have 
two  daughters,  extremely  amiable  beings,  capi- 
tally brought  up,  and  they  are  wealthy.  I  don't 
know  which  of  them  you  will  like  best;  one  of 
them  is  vivacious,  the  other  quiet;  the  second  is 
altogether  too  shy,  I  must  admit.  But  both  can 
stand  up  for  themselves.     You  will  see!  " 

"  Good,  I  shall  see," — replied  Boris  Andreitch, 
and  thought  to  himself:  "  Exactly  like  the  Larin 
family  in  Onyegin."  ^ 

And  whether  it  was  owing  to  this  recollection, 
or  to  some  other  cause,  his  features  assumed  for  a 
time  a  disillusioned  and  bored  aspect. 

"  What  is  the  father's  name? " — he  asked 
carelessly. 

"  Kalimon  Ivanitch," — replied  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch. 

"  Kalimon!  What  a  name!  .  .  .  And  the 
mother? " 

"  The  mother's  name  is  Pelageya  Ivanovna." 

"  And  what  are  the  daughters  called?  " 

*'  One  is  Pelageya  also,  and  the  other  is 
Emerentziya." 

*'  Emerentziya?  I  never  heard  such  a  name 
in  my  life.  .  .  .  And  Kalimonovna  into  the 
bargain." 

"  Yes,  it  really  is  a  rather  strange  name.  .  .  . 
But  what  a  girl  she  is!  simply,  one  may  say,  all 
constituted  of  some  sort  of  virtuous  fire ! " 

*  Pilshkin's  famous  poem,  "  Evgeny  Onyegin."— Thanslatob. 

283 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Good  gracious,  Piotr  Vasilitch,  how  poet- 
ically you  express  yourself !  And  which  is  Eme- 
rentziya — the  quieter  of  the  two?  " 

"  No,  the  other.  .  .  .  But  you  shall  see  for 
yourself." 

"  Emerentziya  Kalimonovna ! "  exclaimed  Vya- 
zovnin  again. 

"  Her  mother  calls  her  Emerance,"— remarked 
Piotr  Vasilitch,  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  her  husbsind —  Calimon?"^ 

"  I  have  n't  heard  her  do  that.    But  just  wait." 

"  I  will." 

It  was  about  twenty-five  versts  to  the  Tikho- 
diieiFs',  as  it  was  to  Sofya  Kirillovna's ;  but 
their  old-fashioned  manor  did  not  in  the  least 
resemble  the  dandified  little  house  of  the  free 
and  easy  widow.  It  was  a  clumsy  structure, 
commodious  and  vast,  a  sort  of  mass  of  dark-hued 
planks,  with  dark  glass  in  the  windows.  By  its 
sides,  in  two  rows,  stood  lofty  birch-trees;  the 
dark-brown  crests  of  huge  lindens  were  visible 
over  the  roof — the  whole  house  seemed  to  be 
overgrown  on  all  sides;  in  summer,  this  vegeta- 
tion probably  enlivened  the  aspect  of  the  manor, 
but  in  winter  it  imparted  to  it  a  still  greater  air 
of  melancholy.  Neither  could  the  impression 
produced  by  the  interior  of  the  house  be  called 
cheerful:  everything  in  it  was  gloomy  and  dim, 
everything  seemed  older  than  it  really  was. 

The  friends  told  the  servant  to  announce  them ; 

284 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

they  were  shown  into  the  drawing-room.  The 
master  and  mistress  of  the  house  rose  to  welcome 
them,  but  for  a  long  time  could  greet  them  only 
with  signs  and  movements  of  the  body,  to  which 
the  guests,  on  their  part,  replied  merely  with 
smiles  and  bows:  such  a  frightful  barking  was 
set  up  by  four  white  lap-dogs  which,  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  strange  faces,  leaped  from  the  em- 
broidered cushions,  whereon  they  had  been  lying. 
The  enraged  little  dogs  were  reduced  to  a  de- 
gree of  silence  by  the  waving  of  handkerchiefs  in 
the  air,  and  by  other  means;  but  one  of  them, 
the  oldest  and  the  most  vicious,  had  to  be  dragged 
from  under  a  bench,  and  carried  oif  into  the  bed- 
room by  a  maid,  who,  during  the  operation,  was 
bitten  in  the  right  hand. 

Piotr  Vasihtch  took  advantage  of  the  restored 
silence  and  introduced  Boris  Andreitch  to  the 
host  and  hostess.  They  declared,  with  one  voice, 
that  they  were  very  glad  to  see  the  new  acquain- 
tance; then  Kalimon  Ivanitch  presented  Boris 
Andreitch  to  his  daughters,  calling  them  Polinka 
and  Eminka.  There  were  in  the  drawing-room 
two  other  persons  of  the  female  sex,  who  were 
no  longer  young;  one  in  a  mob-cap,  the  other 
with  a  dark  kerchief  on  her  head.  But  Kalimon 
Ivanitch  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  introduce 
Boris  Andreitch  to  them. 

Kahmon  Ivanitch  was  a  man  of  fifty-five,  tall, 
stout,  grey-haired;  his  face  had  no  expression 

285 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

in  particular ;  the  features  were  heavy,  plain,  with 
an  imprint  of  indifference,  good-nature,  and  in- 
dolence. His  wife,  a  tiny,  thin  woman,  with 
a  worn  little  face,  and  a  false  front  of  reddish 
hair  under  a  tall  cap,  seemed  to  be  in  a  perennial 
flutter ;  traces  of  a  long-vanished  affectation  were 
perceptible  in  her. 

Of  the  daughters,  one,  Pelageya,  black-haired 
and  swarthy  of  skin,  cast  side-long  glances  and 
was  shy ;  the  other,  Emerentziya,  on  the  contrary, 
fair-haired,  and  plump,  with  round,  rosy  cheeks, 
a  small  pursed-up  mouth,  a  small  snub  nose,  and 
sweet  eyes,  stood  forth  prominently;  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  duty  of  entertaining  guests  rested 
upon  her,  and  did  not  in  the  least  incommode 
her.  Both  sisters  wore  white  gowns,  with  blue 
ribbons  which  fluttered  at  the  slightest  movement. 
Blue  was  becoming  to  Emerentziya,  but  not  to 
Polinka  .  .  .  and,  indeed,  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  find  anything  which  was  becoming  to 
her,  although  she  could  not  have  been  called  a 
homely  girl. 

The  visitors  seated  themselves;  the  host  and 
hostess  propounded  to  them  the  customary  ques- 
tions, uttered  with  that  stiff  and  mawkish  expres- 
sion of  countenance  which  makes  its  appearance 
with  the  most  well-bred  people  during  the  first 
moments  of  conversation  with  new  acquaintances ; 
the  guests  expressed  themselves  in  the  same  man- 
ner.   All  this  produced  a  rather  oppressive  im- 

286 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

pression.  Kalimon  Ivanitch,  not  being  very  fer- 
tile in  expedients  by  nature,  asked  OBoris  Andre- 
itch:  "was  it  long  since  he  had  come  to  live  in 
their  parts?"  while  Boris  Andreitch  had  only 
just  finished  replying  to  the  self -same  question, 
put  by  Pelageya  Ivanovna.  Pelageya  Ivanovna, 
in  a  very  tender  voice, — the  voice  which  is  always 
used  before  visitors  on  the  day  of  their  first  call, 
— reproached  her  husband  with  being  absent- 
minded;  Kalimon  Ivanitch  was  somewhat  dis- 
concerted, and  blew  his  nose  noisily  into  a 
checked  handkerchief.  This  sound  excited  one  of 
the  lap-dogs,  and  it  began  to  bark;  but  Emeren- 
tziya  with  ready  wit  immediately  petted  the  dog 
and  soothed  it.  This  same  young  girl  managed 
to  render  still  another  service  to  her  parents,  who 
were  still  somewhat  bewildered :  she  enlivened  the 
conversation  by  taking  her  seat  modestly  but 
firmly  by  the  side  of  Boris  Andreitch,  and,  in  her 
turn,  propounding  to  him,  with  the  most  impres- 
sive manner,  questions  which,  although  insignifi- 
cant, were  agreeable,  and  calculated  to  evoke 
mirthful  replies.  Matters  were  soon  proceeding 
as  they  should;  a  general  debate  arose,  in  which 
Polinka  alone  took  no  part.  She  stared  obsti- 
nately at  the  floor,  while  Emerentziya  was  even 
laughing,  gracefully  raising  one  hand,  and  at 
the  same  time  bearing  herself  as  though  she 
would  have  liked  to  say:  "  Look,  look,  how  well- 
bred  and  amiable  I  am,  and  how  much  charming 

287 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

playfulness  and  good  will  to  all  men  there  is 
about  me!"  It  seemed  as  though  her  lisp  also 
proceeded  from  the  fact  that  she  was  so  very 
good-natured.  She  laughed,  protracting  her 
laughter  in  a  delightful  manner,  although  Boris 
Andreitch,  in  the  beginning,  had  not  uttered  any 
particularly-amusing  remark;  then  she  laughed 
all  the  more  when  Boris  Andreitch,  stimulated 
by  the  success  of  his  words,  really  did  begin  to  be 
witty  and  say  malicious  things.  .  .  .  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch  laughed  also.  Vyazovnin  remarked,  among 
other  things,  that  he  was  passionately  fond  of 
music. 

"But  how  I  do  love  music,  why,  it  's  simply 
frightful!  " — exclaimed  Emerentziya. 

"  You  not  only  love  it — you  are  a  superb  musi- 
cian yourself," — remarked  Piotr  Vasilitch. 

"  Really?  " — asked  Boris  Andreitch. 

"Yes," — continued  Piotr  Vasilitch: — "and 
Emerentziya  Kalimonovna  and  Pelageya  Kali- 
monovna  both  sing  and  play  splendidly  on  the 
piano,  especially  Emerentziya  Kalimonovna." 

On  hearing  her  name,  Polinka  flushed  and  al- 
most sprang  out  of  her  chair,  while  Emerentziya 
modestly  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  Akh,  mesdemoiselles,"— began  Boris  Andre- 
itch:—"will  not  you  be  so  kind  ....  will  not 
you  do  me  the  favour  .  .  .  ." 

"  I    really  ....  don't    know.  .  .  ."—lisped 

288 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Emerentziya— and,  darting  a  stealthy  glance  at 
Piotr  Vasilitch,  she  added  reproachfully:—"  Akh, 
what  a  man  you  are !  " 

But  Piotr  Vasilitch,  being  a  resolute  man,  im- 
mediately addressed  himself  to  the  hostess. 

"  Pelageya  Ivanovna,"— said  he,—"  command 
your  daughters  to  play  us  something,  or  to  sing." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  they  are  in  good  voice 
to-day," — repHed  Pelageya  Ivanovna;— "but 
they  can  try." 

"Yes,  try,  do  try,"— said  their  father. 

"  Akh,  maman,  how  can  we  .  .  .  ." 

''  Emerance,  quand  je  voiis  dis  .  .  ."  said  Pe- 
lageya Ivanovna  in  a  low  tone,  but  very  seriously. 

She  had  a  habit,  common  to  many  mothers,  of 
issuing  orders,  or  making  hortatory  comments  to 
her  children,  in  the  presence  of  other  people,  in 
the  French  language,  although  those  other  peo- 
ple understood  French  also.  And  this  was  all 
the  more  strange,  seeing  that  she  herself  did  not 
know  that  language  well,  and  pronounced  it 
badly. 

Emerentziya  rose. 

"What  shall  we  sing,  maman?'*— she  asked 
submissively. 

"Your  duet;  it  's  very  pretty.— My  daugh- 
ters," added  Pelageya  Ivanovna,  turning  to  Boris 
Andreitch,— "  have  different  voices:  Emeren- 
tziya has  a  treble  .  .  .  ." 

289 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Soprano,  you  mean  to  say? " 

"Yes,  yes,  soprano.  And  Polinka  has  a  con- 
tralto." 

"  Ah!  a  contralto!  that  's  very  pleasant." 

"I  can't  sing  to-day," — said  Polinka,  with  an 
effort; — "I  am  hoarse." 

Her  voice  really  resembled  a  basso  more  than 
a  contralto. 

"  All!  well,  in  that  case,  Emerance,  sing  us 
thine  aria;  thou  knowest  which — the  Italian  one, 
thy  favourite;  and  Polinka  will  play  thine  ac- 
companiment." 

*'  The  aria  where  thou  patterest,  patterest  like 
a  shower  of  peas,"— chimed  in  her  father. 

"  The  one  with  the  bravura," — explained  her 
mother. 

The  two  girls  went  to  the  piano.  Polinka 
raised  the  lid,  placed  the  book  of  manuscript 
music  on  the  rack,  and  took  her  seat,  while 
Emerentziya  stood  beside  her,  bridling  almost 
perceptibly,  but  very  charmingly,  beneath  the  in- 
tently riveted  glances  of  Boris  Andreitch  and 
Piotr  Vasilitch,  and  occasionally  lifting  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  lips.  At  last  she  began  to  sing, 
after  the  fashion  of  most  young  ladies,  shrilly 
and  not  without  howling.  She  pronounced  the 
words  unintelligibly,  but  from  certain  nasal 
sounds  it  could  be  divined  that  she  was  singing 
in  Italian.  Toward  the  end,  she  really  did  pat- 
ter like  peas,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  Kalimon 

290 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Ivanitch, — he  rose  slightly  in  his  chair  and  ex- 
claimed:—"  Well  done!"— but  she  started  the 
final  trill  sooner  than  she  should  have,  so 
that  her  sister  had  to  play  several  bars  alone. 
This  did  not  prevent  Boris  Andreitch,  however, 
from  expressing  his  pleasure,  and  paying  compli- 
ments to  Emerentziya ;  and  Piotr  Vasilitch,  after 
repeating  a  couple  of  times:  "Very,  very  fine," 
added:  "  Won't  you  sing  us  something  Russian 
now,  '  The  Nightingale,'  or  '  The  Sarafan,'  ^ 
or  some  gipsy  song?  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  those 
foreign  pieces  are  not  written  for  such  as  we." 

"  I  agree  with  you  there,"— remarked  Kalimon 
Ivanitch. 

"  Chanter  .  .  .  '  le  Sarafan'  ^^— remarked  the 
mother,  with  the  same  sternness  as  before. 

"  No,  not  '  The  Sarafan,'  "—interposed  Kali- 
mon Ivanitch:— "but  'We  are  two  Gipsies,'  or 
'  Doff  thy  cap  and  bow  full  low '— knowest 
thou?" 

"Papa,  you  are  always  so  queer!  "—replied 
Emerentziya,  and  sang  "  DofF  thy  cap,"  and 
sang  it  fairly  well.  Kalimon  Ivanitch  hummed 
an  accompaniment,  and  beat  time  with  his  foot, 
while  Piotr  Vasilitch  went  into  perfect  raptures. 

"That  's  quite  another  thing!  That  's  in 
our   style!"— he   kept   repeating.— "  You    have 

iThe  popular  song,  "The  Red  Sarafan"— the  sarafdn  being  the 
full,  loose  gown  of  unmarried  peasant-girls,  gathered  into  a  band 
under  the  arms,  and  suspended  over  the  shoulders  by  straps.— Trans. 

LATOB. 

291 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

comforted  us,  Emerentziya  Kalimonovna!  .... 
Now  I  see  that  you  had  a  right  to  call  yourself 
a  lover  of  music  and  jDroficient  in  it!  I  agree; 
you  are  fond  of  it  and  proficient!  " 

"Akh,  how  indiscreet  you  are!  "—retorted 
Emerentziya,  and  was  on  the  point  of  returning 
to  her  seat. 

"  A  present  '  le  Sarafan/  ''—said  her  mother. 

Emerentziya  sang  "  The  Sarafan,"  not  so  well 
as  "  Doff  thy  cap,"  but  well,  nevertheless. 

"  Now  you  ought  to  play  us  your  sonata  for 
four  hands,"— remarked  Pelageya  Ivanovna;— 
"  but  it  will  be  better  to  defer  that  to  another 
time,  for  I  fear  that  we  shall  bore  Mr.  Vyazov- 
nm." 

"  Pray,  don't  mention  such  a  thing  .  .  .  ."be- 
gan Boris  Andreitch. 

But  Polinka  immediately  clapped  to  the  lid  of 
the  piano,  and  Emerentziya  announced  that  she 
was  tired.  Boris  Andreitch  felt  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  repeat  his  compliments. 

"Akh,  Mr.  Vyazovnin,"— she  replied, — "you 
must  have  heard  far  better  singers,  I  'm  sure;  I 
can  imagine  what  my  singing  sounds  like  after 
them.  .  .  .  Bomerius,  it  is  true,  said  to  me  when  he 
passed  through  here  ....  I  think  you  must 
have  heard  of  Bomerius,  have  you  not? " 

"  No;  who  is  that  Bomerius?  " 

"  Akh,  good  heavens !  a  splendid  violinist,  edu- 
cated in  the  Paris   Conservatory,   a  wonderful 

292 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

musician.  .  .  .  He  said  to  me,  '  Mademoiselle, 
with  your  voice,  if  you  would  only  study  under 
a  good  teacher,  the  result  would  be  simply  mar- 
vellous.' He  simply  kissed  all  my  fingers,  one 
after  the  other.  .  .  .  But  where  am  I  to  study 
here?" 

And  Emerentziya  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,  of  course  .  .  .  ."  repHed  Boris  Andre- 
itch,  poKtely;—"  but  with  your  talent  .  .  ."  He 
hesitated,  and  turned  his  eyes  aside,  with  still 
greater  poHteness. 

"Emerance.demande  pourquoi que le diner. . ." 
said  Pelageya  Ivanovna. 

"  Out,  mamaw/^— replied  Emerentziya,  and 
left  the  room,  giving  a  pretty  little  skip  in  front 
of  the  door. 

She  would  not  have  skipped  had  there  not  been 
visitors.  And  Boris  Andreitch  walked  over  to 
Polinka. 

"  If  this  is  the  Larin  family,"— he  thought, 
— "  must  not  she  be  Tatyana?  " 

And  he  stepped  up  to  Polinka,  who  was  watch- 
ing his  movements  not  without  apprehension. 

"  You  played  your  sister's  accompaniments 
charmingly,"— he  began;—"  charmingly!  " 

Polinka  made  no  reply,  but  merely  blushed 
to  her  very  ears. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  did  not  succeed  in 
hearing  your  duet.  .  .  .  From  what  opera  is  it  ?  " 

Polinka's  eyes  roved  uneasily. 

293 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Vyazovnin  waited  for  her  answer;  no  answer 
came. 

"  What  sort  of  music  do  you  hke  best?  "—he 
asked,  after  waitmg  a  while;—"  Italian  or  Ger- 
manf 

Polinka  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  Pelagie,  rejmnde-donc/'— resounded  Pela- 
geya  Ivanovna's  agitated  whisper. 

"  All  sorts,"— hastily  replied  Polinka.* 

"  But  how  can  you  like  all  sorts  best? " — re- 
plied Boris  Andreitch.  "  It  is  difficult  to  assume 
that.  For  instance,  there  is  Beethoven,— a  ge- 
nius of  the  first  magnitude,  and  yet  he  is  not  ap- 
preciated by  every  one." 

"  No,  sir," — replied  Polinka. 

"  Art  is  varied,  of  course," — pursued  the  ruth- 
less Boris  Andreitch. 

"  Yes,  sir,"— replied  Polinka. 

The  conversation  between  them  did  not  last 
long. 

"  No,"— thought  Boris  Andreitch  as  he  beat  a 
retreat  from  her, — "  she  's  no  Tatyana!  she  is 
simply  trepidation  personified.  .  .  ." 

And  poor  Polinka,  as  she  got  into  bed  that 
night,  complained,  with  tears,  to  her  maid  how 
the  visitor  that  day  had  worried  her  about  music, 
and  how  she  had  not  known  what  replies  to  make 
to  him,  and  how  unhappy  she  was  when  visitors 

*  Polinka,  or  Pauline,  is  the  favourite  familiar  form  of  Pelagdya  (pro- 
nounced Pelagaya);  — French  Pelagic.  — Teanslator. 

294 


4 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

pame:  mamma  did  nothing  but  scold  afterward 
—and  that  's  all  the  satisfaction  she  got  out  of 

M/«     •     •     • 

At  dinner  Boris  Andreitch  sat  between  Kali- 
mon  Ivanitch  and  Emerentziya.  The  dinner  was 
Russian,  not  fanciful,  but  nutritious,  and  much 
better  adapted  to  the  taste  of  Piotr  Vasilitch  than 
the  artfully-concocted  viands  of  the  widow. 
Beside  him  sat  Polinka,  and,  having  at  last  con- 
quered her  timidity,  she  did,  at  least,  answer  his 
questions.  On  the  other  hand,  Emerentziya  en- 
tertained her  neighbour  so  assiduously,  that  at 
last  it  became  more  than  he  could  bear.  She  had 
a  habit  of  bending  her  head  to  the  right,  as  she 
lifted  a  morsel  of  food  to  her  mouth  on  the  left 
— as  though  she  were  playing  with  it;  and  Boris 
Andreitch  took  an  intense  dislike  to  this  trick. 
Neither  did  he  like  the  way  she  had  of  talking 
incessantly  about  herself,  of  confiding  to  him  with 
emotion  the  most  minute  details  of  her  life; — 
but,  being  a  polite  man,  he  did  not  in  the  least  be- 
tray his  sentiments,  so  that  Piotr  Vasilitch,  who 
was  watching  him  across  the  table,  could  not  tell 
what  sort  of  an  impression  Emerentziya  was 
making  on  him. 

After  dinner  Kalimon  Ivanitch  suddenly  sank 
into  meditation,  or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  grew 
slightly  drowsy ;  he  was  accustomed  to  take  a  nap 
at  that  hour,  and  although,  on  observing  that  the 
visitors   were  preparing   to   take   leave,   he  re- 

295 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

marked  several  times:  "But  why,  gentlemen, 
why?  Won't  you  play  a  game  of  cards?  "  .  .  .  . 
yet  in  his  secret  soul  he  was  well  pleased  when  he 
saw  that,  at  last,  they  had  taken  their  caps  in 
their  hands.  Pelageya  Ivanovna,  on  the  contrary, 
immediately  grew  animated,  and  tried,  with  par- 
ticular insistence,  to  detain  the  visitors.  Eme- 
rentziya  zealously  seconded  her  efforts,  and  tried 
in  every  way  to  prevail  upon  them  to  remain; 
even  Polinka  said  to  them:  "Mais, Messieurs  . . . ." 
Piotr  VasiHtch  replied  neither  "  yes  "  nor  "  no," 
but  kept  glancing  at  his  companion.  Boris  An- 
dreitch,  on  the  other  hand,  courteously  but  firmly 
insisted  that  it  was  indispensable  that  they  should 
return  home.  In  a  word,  matters  proceeded  as 
they  had  at  the  parting  with  Sofya  Kirillovna. 
After  having  promised  to  repeat  their  visit  before 
long,  the  guests  finally  departed:  Emerentziya's 
cordial  glances  accompanied  them  clear  to  the 
dining-room,  while  Kalimon  Ivanitch  even  went 
as  far  as  the  anteroom  and,  after  watching  Boris 
Andreitch's  alert  servant  wrap  up  his  master  in 
his  fur  coat,  tie  a  scarf  round  his  neck,  and  pull 
his  warm  boots  on  his  feet,  he  returned  to  his 
study  and  immediately  fell  asleep,  while  Polinka, 
who  had  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  shamed  con- 
fusion by  her  mother,  went  off  to  her  own  room 
up-stairs,  and  the  two  speechless  female  persons, 
one  in  a  mob-cap  and  the  other  with  a  handker- 
chief on  her  head,  congratulated  Emerentziya  on 
her  new  conquest. 

296 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

The  friends  drove  on  in  silence.  Boris  Andre- 
itch  smiled  to  himself,  screened  as  he  was  from 
Piotr  Vasilitch  by  the  raccoon  collar  of  his  fur 
coat,  which  was  turned  up,  and  waited  to  hear 
what  he  would  say. 

"Again,  she  is  n't  the  right  thing!"— ex- 
claimed Piotr  Vasilitch. 

But  this  time  a  certain  indecision  was  discern- 
ible in  his  voice,  and  striving  to  get  a  look  at 
Boris  Andreitch  over  the  collar  of  his  coat,  he 
added  in  an  inquiring  tone : 

"  That 's  true,  is  n't  it — that  she  is  n't  the  right 
thing?" 

"  She  is  n't," — replied  Boris  Andreitch  with  a 
laugh. 

"  So  I  thought,"— replied  Piotr  Vasihtch,  and 
after  a  pause,  he  added: — "  But,  after  all,  why 
is  n't  she  the  right  thing?  What  is  it  that  young 
girl  lacks? " 

"  She  lacks  nothing.  On  the  contrary,  she  has 
too  much  of  everything.  ..." 

"  Precisely  what  do  you  mean  by  '  too  much  '?  " 

"  Why,  just  that." 

"  Excuse  me,  Boris  Andreitch,  I  don't  under- 
stand you.  If  j^ou  are  talking  about  education, 
is  that  any  objection?  And  as  for  character,  be- 
haviour .  .  .  ." 

"  Ekh,  Piotr  Vasilitch,"— returned  Boris  An- 
dreitch:— "I  'm  surprised  that  you,  with  your 
clear  view  of  things,  do  not  see  through  that  lisp- 
ing  Emerentziya!     That   simulated   amiability, 

297 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

that  constant  self -adoration,  that  modest  confi- 
dence in  her  own  merits,  that  condescension  of  an 
angel  gazing  down  on  you  from  the  heights  of 
heaven  ....  but  what 's  the  use  of  talking !  If 
it  comes  to  that,  and  in  case  it  is  absolutely  in- 
dispensable, I  would  twenty  times  rather  marry 
her  sister;  she  knows  how  to  hold  her  tongue,  at 
least!" 

"  You  are  right,  of  course,"— replied  poor 
Piotr  Vasilitch  in  a  low  voice. 

Boris  Andreitch's  sudden  sally  had  dum- 
f  ounded  him. 

"  No,"— he  said  to  himself,  and  he  said  it  for 
the  first  time  since  he  had  made  Vyazovnin's  ac- 
quaintance:— "I  'm  no  match  for  him  .  .  .  . 
he  's  too  learned." 

And  Vyazovnin  on  his  side  was  thinking,  as 
he  gazed  at  the  moon,  which  hung  low  over  the 
white  streak  of  the  horizon:  "  And  it  really  was 
like  a  bit  out  of  '  Onyegin  ' :  .  .  . 

Round  and  red  of  face  was  she  .... 

— but  my  Lensky  is  fine,  and  I  'm  a  pretty 
Onyegin!  " 

"  Faster,  drive  faster,  Lariushka!  " — he  added 
aloud. 

"  She  won't  do," — jestingly  inquired  Boris 
Andreitch  of  Piotr  Vasilitch,  as  he  alighted  from 
the  sledge,  with  the  aid  of  his  footman,  and 

298 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

mounted  the  porch   of  his   own  house,—"  hey, 
PiotrVasihtch?" 

But  Piotr  Vasihtch  made  no  answer  and  went 
off  to  pass  the  night  at  his  own  house.  And 
Emerentziya,  on  the  following  day,  wrote  to  her 
friend  (she  kept  up  a  vast  and  lively  correspon- 
dence) :  "  Yesterday  we  had  a  new  visitor,  our 
neighbour  Vyazovnin.  He  is  a  very  nice,  amiable 
man;  it  is  immediately  apparent  that  he  is  well- 
bred,  and— shall  I  whisper  a  secret  in  thine  ear? 
—I  have  an  idea  that  I  have  made  a  pretty  deep 
impression  on  him.  But  do  not  worry,  mon  amie; 
my  heart  has  not  been  touched,  and  Valentine 
has  no  occasion  to  feel  uneas}^" 

This  Valentine  was  a  teacher  in  the  govern- 
mental gymnasium.  In  town  he  led  a  dissipated 
life,  and  in  the  country  he  sighed  for  Emeren- 
tziya with  platonic  and  hopeless  love. 

The  friends  again  met  together  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  and  their  life  flowed  on  as  before. 

A  fortnight  elapsed.  Boris  Andreitch  was  in 
daily  expectation  of  an  invitation ;  but  Piotr  Va- 
sflitch  had,  apparently,  utterly  renounced  his 
intentions.  Boris  Andreitch  himself  began  to 
talk  about  the  widow  and  the  TikhoduefFs,  and 
dropped  hints  to  the  effect  that  everything  should 
be  subjected  to  three  tests;  but  Piotr  Vasilitch 
did  not  even  appear  to  understand  his  hints.  At 
last  Boris  Andreitch  could  endure  it  no  longer, 
and  one  day  he  began  thus: 

299 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

"  What 's  the  meaning  of  this,  Piotr  Vasihtch? 
Evidently,  it  is  now  my  turn  to  remind  you  of 
your  promises." 

"What  promises?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember,  you  wanted  to  get 
me  married?    I  'm  waiting." 

Piotr  Vasihtch  fidgeted  on  his  chair. 

"  Why,  you  're  so  fastidious,  you  know  I  One 
can't  suit  you.  God  knows  what  you  want!  I 
don't  beheve  there  is  a  bride  to  your  taste  in  these 
parts." 

"  That 's  bad,  Piotr  Vasihtch.  You  ought  not 
to  despair  so  soon.  You  have  not  made  a  success 
of  the  first  two  trials,  but  that  's  no  calamity. 
Moreover,  the  widow  did  please  me.  If  you  give 
me  up,  I  shall  betake  myself  to  her." 

"  All  right,  go  along, — God  bless  you." 

"  Piotr  Vasihtch,  I  assure  you  that,  without 
jesting,  I  want  to  get  married.  Do  take  me 
somewhere  else." 

"  Why,  really,  there  is  no  one  else  in  all  the 
countryside." 

"  That  cannot  be,  Piotr  Vasihtch.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  here,  in  this  whole  neighbour- 
hood, there  is  not  a  single  pretty  woman? " 

"Of  course  there  is !  but  they  are  no  mates  for 
you." 

"  But  do  name  one  of  them." 

Piotr  Vasihtch  gripped  the  amber  mouthpiece 
of  his  tchubuk  with  his  teeth. 

300 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 


(( 


Why,  there  's  Vyerotchka  BarsukoiF,  for  in- 
stance,"— he  said  at  last; — "what  better  do  you 
want?    Only,  she  's  not  for  you." 

"Why?"  ' 

"  Too'  simple." 

"  So  much  the  better,  Piotr  Vasilitch,  so  much 
the  better!" 

"  And  her  father  is  such  an  eccentric." 

"  That  's  no  misfortune.  .  .  .  Piotr  Vasilitch, 
my  friend,  do  introduce  me  to  that  ....  what 
the  deuce  is  her  name  did  you  say? " 
-  "  BarsukoiF." 

"  To  Miss  BarsukoiF  ....  please  do.  .  .  ." 

And  Boris  Andreitch  gave  Piotr  Vasilitch  no 
peace  until  the  latter  promised  to  take  him  to  the 
%arsuk6iFs'. 

Two  days  later  they  drove  to  call  on  them. 

The  BarsukoiF  family  consisted  of  two  per- 
sons: the  father,  aged  iifty,  and  the  daughter, 
aged  nineteen  years.  It  was  not  without  cause 
that  Piotr  Vasilitch  had  called  the  father  an  ec- 
centric; he  really  was  an  eccentric  of  the  iirst 
water.  After  completing  his  course  of  study 
in  a  government  institute  in  brilliant  style,  he 
had  entered  the  naval  service,  and  speedily  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  superior  oificers,  but 
had  soon  retired,  married,  settled  down  in  the 
country,  and  had  gradually  grown  so  indolent 
and  so  relaxed  that,  at  last,  he  not  only  went 
nowhere — he  did  not  even  come  out  of  his  room. 

301 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

Clad  in  a  short  coat  lined  with  hare-fur,  and  in 
heelless  slippers,  with  his  hands  thrust  into  the 
pockets  of  his  full  trousers,  he  paced  back  and 
forth,  for  days  at  a  time,  from  one  corner  to  an- 
other, now  humming  a  tune,  now  whistling,  and 
no  matter  what  was  said  to  him,  he  replied,  with 
a  smile,  to  everything,  "  Brau,  brau!  " — that  is  to 
say,  "  Bravo,  bravo!" 

"  Do  you  know  what,  Stepan  Petrovitch," — a 
neighbour  who  had  dropped  in  to  call  said  to  him, 
— and  the  neighbours  visited  him  with  pleasure, 
because  there  was  no  more  hospitable  and  cordial 
man  in  the  world  than  he, — "  do  you  know  what? 
They  say  that  in  Byelyovo  the  price  of  grain  has 
risen  to  thirty  rubles  in  paper  money." 

"Brau,  brau!" — calmly  replied  Barsukoff, 
who  had  just  sold  his  for  seven  and  a  half. 

"  And  have  you  heard  that  your  neighbour, 
Pavel  Fomitch,  has  gambled  away  thirty  thou- 
sand at  cards? " 

"  Brau,  brau!  " — replied  BarsukoiF,  with  equal 
composure. 

"  The  cattle-murrain  is  in  Shlykovo," — re- 
marked another  neighbour  who  was  sitting  by. 

"  Brau,  brau! " 

"  Lapin's  young  lady  has  eloped  with  the  tu- 
tor. .  .  ." 

"  Brau,  brau,  brau  I  " 

And  so  on,  without  end.  He  was  informed 
that  one  of  his  horses  had  gone  lame,  that  a  Jew 

302 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

had  arrived  with  his  wares,  that  the  clock  had 
fallen  off  the  wall,  that  a  small  boy  had  flung  his 
boots  away  somewhere — and  all  that  was  to  be 
got  out  of  him  was :  "  Brau,  brau !  "  And,  never- 
theless, no  unusual  amount  of  disorder  was  no- 
ticeable in  his  house:  his  peasants  prospered,  and 
he  contracted  no  debts.  Barsukoff's  exterior 
made  a  favourable  impression;  his  round  face, 
with  large  brown  eyes,  a  thin,  regularly-formed 
nose,  and  red  lips,  surprised  one  by  its  almost 
youthful  freshness.  This  freshness  was  thrown 
into  all  the  more  striking  relief  by  the  snowy 
whiteness  of  his  hair.  A  faint  smile  hovered  con- 
stantly over  his  lips,  and  yet  not  so  much  over  his 
lips  as  over  the  dimples  in  his  cheeks;  he  never 
laughed,  but  sometimes,  very  rarely,  uttered  a 
hysterical  gufl'aw,  and  felt  ill  afterward,  on 
every  occasion.  He  said  very  little  outside  of  his 
habitual  exclamation,  and  only  the  most  indis- 
pensable things,  sticking,  moreover,  to  the  ut- 
most possible  abbreviations. 

His  daughter,  Vyerotchka,  resembled  him 
greatly,  both  in  face  and  in  the  expression  of  her 
dark  eyes,  which  seemed  still  darker  because  of 
the  tender  hue  of  her  blond  hair,  and  her  smile. 
She  was  small  of  stature,  and  prettily  formed; 
there  was  nothing  particularl)'^  attractive  about 
her,  but  it  was  sufficient  for  one  to  cast  a  glance 
at  her,  or  to  hear  her  voice,  to  make  him  say  to 
himself:  "That  's  a  kind-hearted  being."     The 

303 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

father  and  daughter  loved  each  other.  The  entire 
management  of  the  housekeeping  was  in  her 
hands,  and  she  hked  to  busy  herself  with  it  ...  . 
she  knew  no  other  occupations.  Not  without  rea- 
son had  Piotr  Vasilitch  called  her  simple. 

When  Piotr  Vasilitch  and  Boris  Andreitch  ar- 
rived at  Barsukoif 's  house,  he  was  pacing  to  and 
fro  in  his  study,  according  to  his  wont.     This 
study,  which  might  also  be  called  the  drawing- 
room  and  the  dining-room,  because  visitors  were 
received  in  it,  and  the  table  was  set  in  it,  took 
up  about  one  half  of  Stepan  Petrovitch's  small 
house.     The  furniture  in  it  was  ugly  but  com- 
fortable; a  remarkably  broad,  soft  divan,  with  a 
great  multitude  of  cushions,  stretched  the  whole 
length   of  one  wall,— a   divan   which  was   well 
known  to  all  the  landed  proprietors  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood.   Truth  to  tell,  it  was  a  very  comfort- 
able divan  to  lie  upon.     In  the  remaining  rooms 
there  were  only  chairs,  and  a  few  little  tables,  and 
cupboards;  all  these  rooms  opened  into  one  an- 
other, and  no  one  lived  in  them.     Vverotchka's 
little  bedroom  opened  on  the  garden,  and  in  addi- 
tion to  her  neat  little  bed,  her  wash-stand  with 
mirror  attached,  and  one  arm-chair,  contained  no 
furniture  whatever ;  to  counterbalance  this,  every- 
where in  the  corners  stood  bottles  filled  with  fruit- 
liqueurs,  and  jars  of  preserves,  all  labelled  by 
Vyerotchka's  own  hand. 

On  entering  the  anteroom,  Piotr  Vasilitch  was 

304 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

on  the  point  of  ordering  that  he  and  Boris  Andre- 
itch  should  be  announced,  but  a  small  boy  in  a 
long-tailed  coat,  who  happened  to  be  there, 
merely  glanced  at  him  and  began  to  remove  his 
fur  coat,  with  the  remark:  "Pray,  enter,  sir." 
The  friends  entered  Stepan  Petrovitch's  study. 
Piotr  Vasilitch  presented  Boris  Andreitch  to  him. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  shook  hands  with  him  and 
said:  "  I  'm  glad  ....  very.  You  must  be  chilled 
through.  .  .  .  Vodka?"  And  indicating  with  a 
movement  of  his  head  the  appetising  viands  which 
stood  on  a  small  table,  he  began  again  to  pace 
the  room. 

Boris  Andreitch  drank  a  glass  of  vodka,  Piotr 
Vasilitch  followed  his  example,  and  both  seated 
themselves  on  tlie  broad  divan  with  its  multitude 
of  cushions.  Boris  Andreitch  immediately  felt 
as  though  he  had  been  sitting  all  his  life  on  that 
divan,  and  had  been  acquainted  with  the  master 
of  the  house  for  a  very  long  time.  That  was 
precisely  the  feeling  which  all  BarsukofF's  visitors 
experienced. 

He  was  not  alone  that  day;  but  then,  he  was 
rarely  to  be  found  alone.  Some  pettifogger  or 
other  was  sitting  with  him,  a  man  with  a  wrinkled, 
senile  face,  a  hawk-like  nose,  and  uneasy  eyes, 
a  completely  threadbare  being,  who  had  recently 
been  serving  in  a  warm  little  post,  and  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  found  himself  under  indictment. 
Clutching  his  stock  with  one  hand,  and  the  front 

305 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

of  his  frock-coat  with  the  other,  this  gentleman 
was  following  Stepan  Petrovitch  with  his  gaze, 
and  having  waited  until  the  visitors  had  seated 
themselves,  he  said  with  a  deep  sigh: 

"  Ekh,  Stepan  Petrovitch,  Stepan  Petrovitch! 
't  is  easy  to  condemn  a  man;  but  you  know  the 
proverb : '  The  honest  man  's  a  sinner,  the  rascal 's 
a  sinner,  all  men  live  by  sin,  so  why  should  not  we 
also? '  " 

"  Brau  .  .  .  ."  Stepan  Petrovitch  was  begin- 
ning, but  stopped  short,  and  said:  "  't  is  a  bad 
proverb." 

"  Who  says  it  is  n't?  Of  course  it  's  bad,"— 
returned  the  threadbare  gentleman;—"  but  what 
would  you  have  one  do!  Misery  is  more  than  a 
match  for  you,  you  know:  it  drives  honesty  out 
of  you.  Here  now,  I  'm  willing  to  leave  it  to 
these  nobly-born  gentlemen,  if  they  will  only 
deign  to  Hsten  to  the  details  of  my  affair.  ..." 

"May  we  smoke?  "—Boris  Andreitch  asked 
the  host. 

The  host  nodded  his  head. 

"Of  course,"— pursued  the  gentleman:— 
"  and  perhaps  I  also  have  been  vexed  at  myself 
and  at  the  world  in  general,— have  felt,  so  to 
speak,  righteous  indignation.  ..." 

"Invented  by  scoundrels,"— Stepan  Petro- 
vitch interrupted  him. 

The  gentleman  gave  a  start. 

"  Precisely  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  Stepan 

306 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Petrovitch?    Do  you  mean  to  say  that  righteous 
indignation  was  invented  by  scoundrels?" 

Stepan  Petrovitch  nodded  his  head  again. 

The  gentleman  held  his  peace  for  a  while,  and 
then  suddenly  burst  into  a  cracked  laugh,  which 
revealed  the  fact  that  he  had  not  a  single  tooth 
left;  yet  he  spoke  quite  clearly. 

"  He,  he,  Stepan  Petrovitch,  you  are  always 
saying  such  odd  things!  Our  lawyer  says  of 
you,  not  without  reason,  that  you  are  a  regular 
punster." 

"  Brau,  brau!  "—responded  Barsukoff. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Vye- 
rotchka  entered.  Advancing  with  firm,  light 
steps,  she  bore  two  cups  of  coffee  and  a  cream- 
jug  on  a  green  tray.  Her  simple  dark-grey 
gown  fitted  her  slender  form  beautifully.  Boris 
Andreitch  and  Piotr  Vasilitch  both  rose  from  the 
divan ;  she  made  them  a  curtsey  in  response,  with- 
out letting  go  of  the  tray,  and  stepping  up  to  the 
table,  she  deposited  her  burden  on  it,  with  the  re- 
mark: 

"  Here  is  some  coffee  for  you." 

"  Brau,"— commented  her  father. — "  Two 
more,"— he  added,  pointing  at  the  guests. — 
"  Boris  Andreitch,  my  daughter." 

Boris  Andreitch  made  her  a  second  obeisance. 

"  Would  you  like  some  coffee?  " — she  inquired, 
looking  him  directty  and  calmly  in  the  eye. — 
"  It  is  still  an  hour  and  a  half  to  dinner-time." 

307 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  With  great  pleasure,"— replied  Boris  An- 
dreitch. 

Vyerotchka  turned  to  Krupitzyn. 

"  And  you,  Piotr  Vasilitch?  " 

"  I  will  drink  some  also." 

"  You  shall  have  it  directly.  I  have  not  seen 
you  for  a  long  time,  Piotr  Vasilitch." 

So  saying,  Vyerotchka  left  the  room. 

Boris  Andreitch  gazed  after  her  and,  bending 
over  to  his  friend,  he  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  But  she  is  very  charming.  .  .  .  And  what 
easy  manners.  .  .  ." 

"  Habit,"-replied  Piotr  Vasilitch:-"  they 
almost  keep  an  eating-house  here,  you  know. 
When  one  person  goes  out  of  the  door,  another 
comes  in." 

As  though  in  confirmation  of  Piotr  Vasilitch's 
words,  a  new  visitor  entered  the  room.  He  was 
an  extremely  voluminous  man,  or,  to  use  an  old- 
fashioned  word  which  still  persists  in  our  region, 
roly-poly,  with  a  big  face,  big  eyes  and  lips,  and 
tousled  hair.  An  expression  of  constant  dissatis- 
faction was  perceptible  on  his  face — a  sour  ex- 
pression. He  was  dressed  in  very  capacious  gar- 
ments, and  lurched  from  side  to  side  with  his 
whole  body  as  he  walked.  He  dropped  heavily 
on  the  divan,  and  only  then  said:  "  Good  morn- 
ing," but  without  addressing  himself  to  any  one 
of  those  present. 

"  Vodka?  "— Stepan  Petrovitch  asked  him. 

308 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

"No  I  vodka  forsooth!  "—replied  the  new 
guest ;— "  I  'm  in  no  mood  for  vodka.  How  are 
you,  Piotr  Vasilitch?  "  he  added,  glancing  round. 

"  How  are  you,  Mikhei  Mikhei A,"— replied 
Piotr  Vasilitch.—"  Whence  has  God  brought 
you?" 

"  Whence?  From  town,  of  course.  'T  is  only 
you  lucky  dogs  who  don't  have  any  occasion  to 
go  to  town,  you  know.  But  I,  thanks  to  Court 
of  Guardianship,  and  to  these  Httle  masters  here," 
—he  added,  thrusting  out  his  finger  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  gentleman  under  indictment,—"  I 
have  driven  all  my  horses  to  death  running  to 
town.    Damn  it  all!  " 

"  Mikhei  Mikheitch,  my  deepest  respects  to 
you,"— said  the  gentleman  who  had  been  so  un- 
ceremoniously designated  as  little  master. 

Mikhei  Mikheitch  glanced  at  him. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  please,"— he  began,  fold- 
ing his  arms : — "  when  are  they  finally  going  to 
hang  thee?" 

The  other  man  took  offence. 

"  Well,  they  ought  to  do  it!  By  heaven,  they 
ought  to!  The  Government  is  too  lenient  to  fel- 
lows of  your  stamp— that  's  what!  I  suppose 
thou  art  melancholy  because  thou  art  under 
indictment?  That  's  nothing  at  all!  Only 
one  thing  is  vexatious,  I  fancy;  thou  canst 
not  now— haben  sie  gewesen^'— and  Mikhei 
Mikheitch   stuck    out   his   hand,    as    though   he 

309 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

were  catching  something  in  the  air,  and  then 
thrust  it  into  his  side-pocket.— "  Ridiculous! 
Ekh  you,  disgusting  little  race,  both  big  and 
small! " 

"  It  pleases  you  always  to  jest,"— replied  the 
dismissed  pettifogger; — "but  you  will  not  take 
into  consideration  that  the  giver  is  free  to  give, 
and  the  receiver  to  receive.  Moreover,  I  did  not 
act  on  my  own  initiative  in  that  case,  and  more 
than  one  person  took  a  hand  in  it,  as  I  have  ex- 
plained. ..." 

"  Of  course," — remarked  Mikhei  Mikheitch 
ironically.  "  The  fox  took  refuge  under  the  har- 
row from  the  rain— not  every  drop  will  land  on 
him  anyway.  But  confess,  our  chief  of  police 
rebuked  thee  fiercely,  did  n't  he?  Hey?  'T  was 
severe,  was  n't  it?  " 

The  man  writhed. 

"  He  's  a  lively  hand  at  training  a  man  down," 
— he  said  at  last,  hesitatingly. 

"Exactly  so!" 

"  And  nevertheless,  one  may  say  of  him, 
sir  .  .  .  ." 

"  That  he  's  a  man  of  gold,  a  genuine  treasure," 
— Mikhei  Mikheitch  interrupted  him,  turning 
to  Stepan  Petrovitch. — "  He  's  a  regular  giant 
at  handling  such  fine  young  fellows  as  this,  and 
drunkards! " 

"  Brau,  brau!  "—responded  Stepan  Petro- 
vitch. 

310 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

Vyerotchka  entered  with  two  more  cups  of 
coiFee  on  a  tray. 

Mikhei  Mikheitch  made  his  bow  to  her. 

"  One  more,"— said  her  father. 

"  Why  do  you  give  yourself  the  trouble? " — 
Boris  Andreitch  said  to  her,  as  he  took  his  cup 
from  her. 

"It  is  no  trouble!  "—replied  Vyerotchka,— 
"  and  I  do  not  care  to  entrust  it  to  the  butler;  it 
seems  to  me  that  it  will  be  more  savoury  thus." 

*'  Of  course,  from  your  hands." 

But  Vyerotchka  did  not  listen  to  his  amiable 
remarks  to  the  end,  but  went  out,  returning  im- 
mediately with  coffee  for  Mikhei  Mikheitch. 

"  And  have  you  heard,"— began  Mikhei  Mi- 
kheitch, as  he  drained  his  cup;— "Marya  111- 
nitchna  is  lying  speechless,  you  know." 

Stepan  Petrovitch  halted,  and  raised  his  head. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"— went  on  Mikhei  Mi- 
kheitch.—" 'T  is  paralysis.  You  know,  of  course, 
how  fond  she  was  of  eating.  So,  day  before  yes- 
terday, she  was  sitting  at  table,  and  she  had 
guests.  .  .  .  Botvinya  ^  was  served,  and  she  had 


^  A  soup  whose  foundation  consists  of  a  sort  of  sour  small  beer, 
brewed  from  sour  cabbage,  or  from  rye  flour  (or  the  crusts  of  sour  rye 
bread),  thickened  with  strained  spinach,  tiny  cubes  of  raw  cucumber, 
and  minced  spring  onions.  A  lump  of  ice  is  placed  in  the  tureen. 
On  a  separate  dish  the  adjuncts  are  served,  and  each  person  adds  them 
to  the  above  according  to  his  taste.  They  consist  of  some  sort  of  cold, 
boiled  fish,  cucumbers,  onions,  horse-radish,  crawfish, — anything  else 
which  is  convenient  and  savoury,— and  sugar.  When  well  made,  it  is 
delicious.  —Translator. 

311 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

already  eaten  two  platefuls,  and  was  asking  for 
a  third  ....  when  all  of  a  sudden  she  glanced 
round,  and  said  this  way,  deliberately,  you  know : 
'  Take  away  the  botvinya,  all  the  people  are  sit- 
ting there  green  '  .  .  .  and  flop  she  went  off  her 
chair!  They  rushed  to  lift  her,  they  asked  what 
ailed  her?  .  .  .  She  explained  by  motions  of  her 
hands,  but  her  tongue  was  no  longer  working. 
They  say  that  our  county  medical  man  distin- 
guished himself  on  that  occasion,  to  boot.  .  .  He 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  shouted :  *  The  doctor ! 
send  for  the  doctor!'— He  lost  his  head  com- 
pletely. Well,  and  what  practice  does  he  have 
anyway?  He  gets  his  whole  living  from  dead 
bodies." 

"  Brau,  brau!"  articulated  Barsukoff, 
thoughtfully. 

"  And  we  are  going  to  have  botvinya  to-day 
too," — remarked  Vyerotchka,  as  she  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  a  chair  in  one  corner. 

"With  what?  Sturgeon?" — briskly  inquired 
Mikhei  Mikheitch. 

"  With  fresh  sturgeon  and  dried  sturgeon's 
back." 

"  That  's  fine !  Here  now,  they  say  that  bot- 
vinya is  not  good  in  winter,  because  it  is  a  cold 
dish.  That  's  nonsense  ....  is  n't  it,  Piotr 
Vasilitch?" 

"Perfect  nonsense,"— replied  Piotr  Vasflitch; 
— "  is  n't  it  pretty  warm  here  indoors?  " 

"  Very  warm." 

312 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

"  Then  why  should  n't  one  eat  a  cold  dish  in  a 
hot  room?    I  don't  understand." 

"  And  I  don't  understand.'* 

In  this  manner  did  the  conversation  run  on  for 
quite  a  long  time.  The  host  took  hardly  any 
part  in  it,  and  kept  striding  about  the  room.  At 
dinner,  all  ate  with  splendid  appetite,  so  ex- 
quisitely, though  simply,  was  the  food  prepared. 
Vyerotchka  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  served 
the  botvinya,  sent  the  dishes  round,  watched  how 
the  guests  ate,  and  tried  to  anticipate  their  wants. 
Vyazovnm  sat  beside  her  and  gazed  attentively 
at  her.  Vyerotchka  could  not  speak  without 
smiling,  like  her  father,  and  it  was  very  becom- 
ing to  her.  Vyazovnm  put  a  question  to  her  now 
and  then, — not  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  an- 
swers from  her,  but  with  the  express  object  of 
seeing  that  smile. 

After  dinner,  Mikhei  Mikheitch,  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch,  and  the  gentleman  who  was  under  indict- 
ment, whose  real  name  was  Onufry  Hitch,  sat 
down  to  play  cards.  Mikhei  JMikheitch  no  longer 
expressed  himself  so  harshly  concerning  him,  al- 
though he  continued  to  jeer  at  him;  possibly  this 
arose  from  the  fact  that  Mikhei  Mikheitch  had 
drunk  a  glass  too  much  at  dinner.  To  tell  the 
truth,  at  every  deal  he  announced  in  advance 
that  Onufry  would  hold  all  the  aces  and  trumps, 
that  that  small  fry  ^  always  stacked  the  cards  to 

^  Literally,  "nettle-seed,"  a  term  of  contempt  applied  to  petty 
under-clerks. —Translator. 

313 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

cheat,  that  he  had  thievish  hands  anyway;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  after  having  made  a  small  slam 
with  him,  Mikhei  Mikheitch  began  quite  unex- 
pectedly to  praise  him. 

"  Well,  say  what  thou  wilt,  thou  art  utter  rub- 
bish,"—he  said  to  him:— "but  I  love  thee,  by 
heaven  I  do !  Because,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  my 
nature  to,  and  in  the  second  place,  when  one 
comes  to  think  it  over,  there  are  worse  folks  than 
thou,  and  I  may  even  say  that  thou  art  a  decent 
man,  in  thy  way." 

"  You  have  deigned  to  speak  the  truth,  Mi- 
khei Mikheitch," — replied  Omifry  Hitch,  greatly 
encouraged  by  such  words: — "the  most  down- 
right truth;  only,  of  course,  if  it  were  n't  for 
persecution  .  .  .  ." 

"  Come,  deal,  deal,"— Mikhei  Mikheitch  inter- 
rupted him; — "  persecution,  forsooth!  What  per- 
secution? !  Thou  mayest  thank  God  that  thou 
art  not  sitting  chained  in  PugatchofF's  tower  at 
this  moment.  .  .  .  Deal." 

And  Onufry  Hitch  began  to  deal  the  cards, 
briskly  blinking  his  little  eyes,  and  still  more 
briskly  moistening  the  thumb  of  his  right  hand 
with  his  long,  thin  tongue. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Stepan  Petrovitch  stalked 
about  the  room,  while  Boris  Andreitch  kept  close 
to  Vyera.  The  conversation  between  them  pro- 
ceeded by  fits  and  starts  (she  was  constantly 
leaving  the  room),  and  was  so  insignificant  that 

314 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

it  would  be  difficult  to  reproduce  it.  He  ques- 
tioned her  as  to  what  people  dwelt  in  their  neigh- 
bourhood, whether  she  often  made  visits,  whe- 
ther she  was  fond  of  housekeeping?  To  the 
question,  as  to  what  she  read,  she  replied:  "I 
should  like  to  read,  but  I  have  no  time."  And 
5^et,  when  at  nightfall  the  small  boy  entered  the 
study  with  the  announcement  that  their  horses 
were  ready,  he  felt  sorry  to  leave,  sorry  to  cease 
seeing  those  kind  eyes,  that  bright  smile.  If 
Stepan  Petrovitch  had  taken  it  into  his  head 
to  detain  him,  he  certainly  would  have  remained ; 
but  Stepan  Petrovitch  did  nothing  of  the  sort, 
—not  because  he  was  not  pleased  with  his  new 
guest,  but  because  this  was  the  established  order 
of  things  in  his  house:  if  any  one  wished  to  spend 
the  night,  that  person  himself  gave  orders 
straight  out  that  a  bed  should  be  prepared  for  him. 
Mikhei  Mikheitch  and  Oniifry  flitch  did  this; 
they  even  went  to  bed  in  the  same  chamber,  and 
chatted  until  long  after  midnight;  their  voices 
were  dully  audible  from  the  study ;  Onuf ry  Hitch 
was  the  principal  talker,  and  appeared  to  be  nar- 
rating something,  while  his  interlocutor  merely 
ejaculated  from  time  to  time,  now  with  surprise, 
again  with  approbation:  "H'm!"  On  the  fol- 
lowing morning  they  drove  away  together  to 
Mikhei  Mikheitch's  village,  and  thence  to  the 
town,  still  together. 

On  the  way  home  both  Piotr  Vasilitch  and 

315 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

Boris  Andreitch  maintained  silence  for  a  long 
time.  Piotr  Vasilitch  even  dozed,  lulled  by  the 
jingling  of  the  bells,  and  the  smooth  motion  of 
the  sledge. 

"Piotr  Vasilitch!"— said  Boris  Andreitch  at 
last. 

"What?  "-said  Piotr  Vasilitch,  only  half 
awake. 

"  Why  don't  you  interrogate  me?  " 

"  What  should  I  interrogate  you  about?  " 

"  Why,  as  you  did  those  other  times— why 
not? " 

"  About  Vyerotchka,  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  There  you  go !  As  if  I  destined  her  for  you ! 
She  's  not  suited  to  you." 

"  You  're  mistaken  in  thinking  so.  She  pleases 
me  a  great  deal  more  than  all  your  Emeren- 
tziyas  and  Sofya  Kirillovnas!  " 

"You  don't  mean  it?" 

"  I  do,  I  tell  you." 

"Why,  good  gracious!— she  's  a  perfectly 
simple  young  girl.  She  may  be  a  good  house- 
wife,— that 's  a  fact;  but  is  that  what  you  require, 
pray?  " 

"  And  why  not?  Perhaps  that  is  precisely 
what  I  am  in  search  of." 

"  But  what  are  you  saying,  Boris  Andreitch? 
Good  heavens!  why,  she  can't  talk  French  at 
all!" 

316 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  What  of  that?  Can't  one  get  along  without 
the  French  language? " 

Piotr  Vasilitch  made  no  reply  for  a  while. 

"  I  did  n't  in  the  least  expect  this  ....  from 
you,  that  is  to  say  ....  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
are  jesting." 

*'  No,  I  'm  not  jesting." 

"  God  knows  what  to  make  of  you  after  this! 
Why,  I  thought  that  she  was  only  a  mate  for  a 
fellow  like  me.  However,  she  's  really  quite  a 
nice  little  lass." 

And  Piotr  Vasilitch  adjusted  his  cap,  buried 
his  head  in  a  cushion,  and  went  to  sleep.  Boris 
Andreitch  continued  to  think  of  Vyerotchka.  He 
still  seemed  to  see  her  smile,  the  merry  gentle- 
ness of  her  eyes.  The  night  was  bright  and  cold, 
the  snow  gleamed  with  bluish  fires,  like  diamonds; 
the  stars  were  shining  and  the  Pleiades  were 
twinkling  brilliantly;  the  frost  crackled  and 
creaked  under  the  sledge-runners ;  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  covered  with  icy  rime,  tinkled  faintly, 
as  they  glistened  in  the  moonlight,  as  though 
made  of  glass.  At  such  times  the  imagination 
plays  freely.  Vyazovnin  experienced  this  in  his 
own  case.  He  thought  of  all  sorts  of  things, 
until  the  sledge  drew  up,  at  last,  at  his  porch; 
but  the  image  of  Vyerotchka  would  not  get  out 
of  his  head,  and  secretly  accompanied  his  rev- 
eries. 

Piotr  Vasilitch,  as  we  have  already  said,  was 

317 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

astonished  at  the  impression  which  Vyerotchka 
had  made  on  Boris  Andreitch;  but  he  was  still 
more  astonished  when,  a  couple  of  days  later, 
that  same  Boris  Andreitch  announced  to  him  that 
he  was  bent  upon  driving  to  see  BarsukoiF,  and 
that  he  would  go  alone  if  Piotr  Vasilitch  were  not 
disposed  to  accompany  him.  Piotr  Vasflitch,  of 
course,  replied  that  he  should  be  dehghted,  and 
was  ready,  and  again  the  friends  drove  to  Bar- 
sukoff 's  house,  and  again  spent  the  whole  day 
there.  As  on  the  first  occasion,  they  found  sev- 
eral visitors  with  him,  whom  Vyerotchka  also  re- 
galed with  coffee,  and  after  dinner  with  pre- 
serves ;  but  Vyazovnin  talked  more  with  her  than 
on  the  first  occasion— that  is,  he  said  more  to  her. 
He  told  her  about  his  past  life,  about  Petersburg, 
about  his  travels,— in  a  word,  about  everything 
which  came  into  his  head.  She  listened  to  him 
with  calm  interest,  smiling  every  now  and  then, 
but  not  for  a  single  moment  forgetting  her  duties 
as  hostess:  she  rose  on  the  instant,  as  soon  as 
she  perceived  that  the  guests  needed  anything, 
and  she  herself  brought  everything  to  them. 
When  she  withdrew,  Vyazovnin  did  not  leave  his 
place,  and  gazed  peacefully  about  him;  she  re- 
turned, seated  herself  by  his  side,  took  up  her 
work,  and  again  he  entered  into  conversation 
with  her.  Stepan  Petrovitch  approached  them 
in  the  course  of  his  wanderings  about  the  room, 
listened    to    Vyazovnin's    remarks,    muttered: 

318 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  brau,  brau!"— and  so  the  time  fairly  flew  by. 
....  On  this  occasion  Vyazovnin  and  Piotr 
Vasflitch  remained  over  night,  and  did  not  depart 
until  the  evening  of  the  following  day.  .  .  .  As 
he  took  his  leave,  Vyazovnin  shook  Vyera's  hand. 
She  flushed  faintly.  No  man  had  ever  shaken 
hands  with  her  before  that  day,  but  she  thought, 
evidently,  this  was  the  established  custom  in 
Petersburg. 

The  two  friends  began  to  make  frequent  visits 
to  Stepan  Petrovitch;  Boris  Andreitch,  in  par- 
ticular, made  himself  quite  at  home  in  the  house. 
There  were  times  when  he  felt  irresistibly  drawn 
thither,  when  he  fairly  longed  to  go.  Several 
times  he  even  went  alone.  Vyerotchka  pleased 
him  more  and  more,  and  a  friendship  was 
established  between  them,  and  he  was  already 
beginning  to  think  that  she  was  too  cold  and 
sensible  a  friend.  Piotr  Vasflitch  ceased  to 
talk  to  him  about  Vyerotchka.  .  .  But  lo, 
one  morning,  after  staring  at  him,  according 
to  his  habit,  for  some  time  in  silence,  he  said 
meaningly : 

"Boris  Andreitch!" 

"  What?  "—returned  Boris  Andreitch,  and 
flushed  slightly,  without  himself  knowing  why. 

"  I  want  to  say  something  to  j'^ou,  Boris  Andre- 
itch. .  .  .  You  'd  better  look  out  ....  you 
know  .  .  .  .  't  will  be  a  bad  business  if,  for  ex- 
ample, anything  .  .  .  ." 

319 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

*'  What  are  you  trying  to  say?  "—retorted 
Boris  Andreitch.— "  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Why,  about  Vyerotchka.  .  .  ." 

"  About  Vyerotchka? " 

And  Boris  Andreitch  blushed  worse  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Yes.  Look  out,  for  't  is  easy  to  bring  about 
a  catastrophe  ....  to  insult  her,  that  is  ...  . 
Excuse  my  frankness ;  but  I  consider  it  my  duty 
as  a  friend.  ..." 

"  But  what  put  that  into  your  head,  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch?  " — Boris  Andreitch  interrupted  him.— 
"  Vyerotchka  is  a  girl  of  the  strictest  principles, 
and,  in  conclusion,  there  is  nothing  between  us 
but  the  most  ordinary  friendship."  * 

"  Come,  enough  of  that,  Boris  Andreitch!  "— 
interposed  Piotr  Vasilitch  in  his  turn.—"  What 
sort  of  friendship  can  there  be  between  you,  a 
cultured  man,  and  a  country  girl^,  who  except  the 
four  walls  of  her  home  .  .  .  ." 

"  There  you  go  again  with  the  same  old  cry!  " 
— Boris  Andreitch  interrupted  him  again. — 
*'  Why  you  mix  culture  up  in  the  matter,  is  more 
than  I  can  understand." 

Boris  Andreitch  was  somewhat  angry. 

"  Come,  do  listen  to  me,  Boris  Andreitch," — 
said  Piotr  Vasilitch,  impatiently: — "if  it  has 
come  to  such  a  pass,  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that 
you  have  a  perfect  right  to  keep  secrets  from  me, 
but  as  for  deceiving  me,  excuse  me,  but  you  can- 

320 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

not  do  it.  For  I  have  eyes  as  well  as  you,  you 
see.  Yesterday  "  (they  had  both  been  at  Stepan 
Petrovitch's  on  the  day  before)  "  revealed  a  great 
deal  to  me.  .  .  ." 

"  And  what,  in  particular,  did  it  reveal  to 
you?  " — inquired  Boris  Andreitch. 

"  Why,  it  revealed  to  me  the  fact  that  you  are 
in  love  with  her,  and  jealous  of  her." 

Vyazovnin  stared  at  Piotr  Vasilitch. 

"  Well,  and  does  she  love  me?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  say  for  certain;  but  it  would 
be  strange  if  she  did  not  fall  in  love  with  you." 

"  Because  I  am  well-educated,  you  mean  to 
say." 

"  For  that  reason,  and  also  because  you  have  a 
fine  estate.  Well,  and  your  personal  appear- 
ance might  please  also.  But  your  property  is  the 
principal  thing." 

Vyazovnin  rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"  How  could  you  notice  that  I  was  jealous?  " 
— he  asked,  suddenly  turning  toward  Piotr  Vasi- 
litch. 

"  Because  you  were  utterly  unlike  yourself 
yesterday,  until  that  oaf  KarantyefF  took  his  de- 
parture." 

Vyazovnin  made  no  reply,  but  he  felt  in  his 
soul  that  his  friend  was  speaking  the  truth.  This 
Karantyeff  was  a  student  who  had  not  completed 
his  course,  a  merry  and  far  from  stupid  young 
fellow,  with  soul,  but  who  had  been  led  utterly 

321 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

astray  and  had  gone  to  destruction.  Passions 
had  exhausted  his  powers  in  early  youth;  he  had 
been  left  without  guardianship  too  early.  He 
had  an  audacious  gipsy  face,  and  altogether  he 
resembled  a  gipsy;  he  sang  and  danced  like  a 
gipsy.  He  fell  in  love  with  all  women.  Vye- 
rotchka  pleased  him  greatly.  Boris  Andreitch 
made  his  acquaintance  at  Barsukoff' s,  and  at  first 
entertained  a  very  friendly  feeling  toward  him; 
but  noticing  one  day  the  peculiar  expression  of 
countenance  wherewith  Vyerotchka  was  listening 
to  his  songs,  he  began  to  think  differently  about 
him. 

"Piotr  Vasilitch," — said  Boris  Andreitch,  step- 
ping up  to  his  friend,  and  coming  to  a  halt  in 
front  of  him, — "  I  must  confess  ....  that  it 
seems  to  me  you  are  right.  I  have  felt  so  this  long 
time,  but  you  have  definitively  opened  my  eyes 
for  me.  I  really  am  not  indifferent  to  Vye- 
rotchka; but  hearken,  Piotr  Vasilitch,  what  does 
that  amount  to?  Neither  she  nor  I  desire  any- 
thing dishonourable;  moreover,  I  have  told  you, 
I  believe,  that  I  see  no  particular  signs  of  affec- 
tion for  me  on  her  side." 

"  All  that  is  so,"— returned  Piotr  Vasilitch, — 
"  but  the  Evil  One  is  strong." 

Boris  Andreitch  made  no  reply  for  a  while. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  Piotr  Vasilitch?" 

"  What?    Stop  going  there." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

322 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Of  course.  .  .  .  You  can't  marry  her!  " 

Again  Vyazovnm  held  his  peace  for  a  space. 

^'  And  why  should  n't  I  marry  her?  "—he  ex- 
claimed at  last. 

"  I  have  already  told  you  why,  Boris  Andre- 
itch;  she  's  no  mate  for  you." 

"  I  don't  see  that." 

"  If  you  don't  see  it,  do  as  you  like.  I  'm  not 
your  guardian." 

And  Piotr  Vasilitch  began  to  stuff  his  pipe 
with  tobacco. 

Boris  Andreitch  sat  down  by  the  window,  and 
became  engrossed  in  meditation. 

Piotr  Vasilitch  did  not  interfere  with  him  and 
continued  with  the  utmost  composure  to  emit 
tiny  clouds  of  smoke  from  his  mouth.  At  last 
Boris  Andreitch  rose,  and  with  visible  agitation 
ordered  the  horses  to  be  harnessed. 

"  Whither  away?  "—Piotr  Vasilitch  asked  him. 

"  To  the  Barsukoffs'  "—replied  Boris  Andre- 
itch. 

Piotr  Vasilitch  took  five  puffs. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you?  " 

"  No,  Piotr  Vasilitch;  I  should  like  to  go  alone 
to-day.  I  want  to  have  an  explanation  with 
Vyerotchka." 

"  As  you  please." 

"  There  now,"— he  said  to  himself,  after  he 
had  seen  Boris  Andreitch  off, — "  things  seem  to 
be  coming  to  a  head.  .  .  But  he  always  was  a 

323 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

lucky  dog," — he  added,  as  he  stretched  himself 
out  on  the  divan. 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  as  Piotr  Va- 
silitch,  without  waiting  for  his  friend,  was  pre- 
paring to  get  into  bed  in  his  own  house,  Boris 
Andreitch,  all  powdered  with  snow,  suddenly 
burst  into  the  room,  and  flung  himself  on  his 
neck. 

"  My  friend,  Piotr  Vasflitch,  congratulate 
me!  " — he  cried,  for  the  first  time  addi'essing  him 
as  thou; — "  she  consents  and  so  does  the  old  mt^n. 
.  .  .  Everything  is  already  settled!  " 

"  What  ....  do  you  mean?  " — mumbled  the 
astonished  Piotr  Vasflitch. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married!  "  * 

"ToVyerotchka?" 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Everything  is  already  decided  and 
arranged." 

"Can  it  be?" 

"  What  a  man  thou  art!  .  .  .  everything  is  set- 
tled, I  tell  thee." 

Piotr  Vasilitch  hastily  put  his  slippers  on  his 
bare  feet,  threw  on  his  dressing-gown,  and 
shouted : 

"  Makedoniya,  tea!  "-adding:-"  Well,  if 
everything  is  already  settled,  there  's  no  use  in 
discussing  it;  may  God  grant  you  concord  and 
counsel!  But,  tell  me,  please,  how  this  has  come 
about." 

It  is  worth  noting  that  from  that  moment  the 

324 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

two  friends  began  to  address  each  other  as  thou 
just  as  though  they  had  never  done  anything 
else. 

"  Certainly,  with  pleasure,"— replied  Vyazov- 
nin,  and  began  his  narration. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  is  what  had  taken 
place. 

When  Boris  Andreitch  had  reached  Stepan 
Petrovitch's,  the  latter  had  not  a  single  visitor 
with  him,  contrary  to  his  custom,  and  he  him- 
self was  not  stalking  about  the  room,  but  was 
sitting  in  a  Voltaire  chair:  he  was  not  feeling 
well.  He  ceased  speaking  altogether,  when 
he  was  in  that  condition,  and  consequently 
nodded  his  head  amicably  to  Vyazovnm  as  he 
entered,  pointed  out  to  him  first  the  table  with 
the  cold  luncheon,  then  Vyerotchka,  and  closed 
his  eyes.  That  was  all  Vyazovnm  required; 
he  seated  himself  beside  Vyerotchka,  and 
entered  into  a  low-voiced  conversation  with 
her.  They  discussed  the  health  of  Stepan  Petro- 
vitch. 

"  I  am  always  frightened," — said  Vyerotchka, 
in  a  whisper,—"  when  he  is  ill.  He  's  so  odd,  you 
know ;  he  never  complains,  he  never  asks  for  any- 
thing; you  can't  get  a  word  out  of  him.  If  he 
is  ill,  he  will  not  say  so." 

"  And  do  you  love  him  very  much?  " — Vyazov- 
nm asked  her. 

*'  Who  ?    Papa  ?    Yes,  more  than  any  one  in  the 

325 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 


world.  God  forbid  that  anything  should  haj)- 
pen  to  him!    I  think  I  should  die!  " 

"  That  means  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
you  to  part  from  him? " 

"Part  from  him?     Why  should  I?" 

Boris  Andreitch  looked  her  full  in  the  face. 

"  A  young  girl  cannot  live  all  her  life  in  her 
father's  house." 

"  Ah!  So  that  is  what  you  mean.  .  .  .  Well, 
I  am  at  ease  on  that  score.  .  .  .  Who  will  take 


me  5 


?» 


I ! "  Boris  Andreitch  came  near  saying,  but 
restrained  himself. 

"What  makes  you  thoughtful?  "—she  asked, 
looking  at  him  with  her  wonted  smile.  t 

"  I  am  thinking,"— he  replied,—"  I  am  think- 
ing ....  that  .  .  .  ."  And  suddenly  chang- 
ing his  tone,  he  asked  her  whether  she  had  known 
Karantyeff  long. 

"  Really,  I  don't  remember.  ...  So  many  of 
them  come  to  see  papa,  you  know.  I  think  he 
called  on  us  last  year  for  the  first  time." 

"  Tell  me;  do  you  like  him?  " 

"  No," — replied  Vyerotchka,  after  reflecting 
a  while. 

"Why?" 

"  He  is  so  untidy," — she  replied  artlessly.— 
"  He  must  be  a  nice  man,  however,  and  he  sings 
so  splendidly  ....  one's  heart  stirs  within  one 
when  he  sings." 

326 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Ah!  "—articulated  Vyazovnin,  and  after  a 
brief  pause,  he  added:— "But  whom  do  you 
like?" 

"  I  like  a  great  many  people,— I  like  you." 

"  You  and  I  are  friends,  of  course.  But  don't 
you  like  some  one  of  the  others  better?  " 

"How  inquisitive  you  are!" 

"  And  you  are  very  cold." 

"  How  so?  "—asked  Vyerotchka,  ingenuously. 

"  Listen  .  .  .  ."  Vyazovnin  was  beginning. 

But  at  that  moment  Stepan  Petrovitch  turned 
in  his  chair. 

"  Listen," — he  went  on,  in  a  barely  audible 
tone,  while  his  blood  fairly  throbbed  in  his 
throat, — "  I  must  say  something  to  you,  some- 
thing very  important  ....  only  not  here." 

"Where,  then?" 

"  The  next  room  would  do." 

"What  is  it?" — asked  Vyerotchka,  rising. 
"  A  secret,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,  a  secret." 

"  A  secret,"— repeated  Vyerotchka,  with  sur- 
prise, and  went  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Vyazovnin  followed  her,  as  in  a  fever. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  "—she  asked  with  curiosity. 

Boris  Andreitch  would  have  liked  to  lead  up 
to  the  point  from  afar;  but  when  he  looked  into 
that  young  face,  animated  by  that  faint  smile 
which  he  so  loved,  into  those  clear  eyes,  which 
gazed  forth  with  so  gentle  a  glance,  he  lost  his 

327 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 


head  and  quite  unexpectedly  to  himself,  without 
any  preliminaries,  he  asked  Vyerotchka  point- 
blank  : 

"  Vyera  Stepanovna,  will  you  be  my  wife?  " 

"  What?  "—asked  Vyerotchka,  flushing  all 
over,  so  that  her  very  ears  were  crimson. 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife?  " — repeated  Vyazov- 
nin,  mechanically. 

"  I  .  .  .  .  I — really,  I  don't  know — I  did  not 
expect  ....  this  is  so  .  .  .  ."  whispered  Vyera, 
putting  her  hands  on  the  window-sill,  to  keep 
from  falling, — then  she  suddenly  fled  from  the 
room  to  her  own  chamber. 

Boris  Andreitch  stood  for  a  while  where  he  was, 
and  then,  in  great  perturbation  returned  to  the 
study.  On  the  table  lay  a  copy  of  The  Mos- 
cow News.  He  picked  it  up,  seated  himself, 
and  began  to  glance  over  the  lines,  not  only  with- 
out understanding  what  was  printed  there,  but 
even  having  no  conception  on  the  whole  as  to 
what  had  happened  to  him.  He  spent  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  this  condition;  but  then  a 
faint  rustle  resounded  behind  him,  and  without 
looking  around,  he  felt  that  Vyera  had  entered. 

Several  more  moments  passed.  He  darted  an 
oblique  glance  from  behind  the  sheet  of  the 
News.  She  was  sitting  by  the  window,  and 
seemed  pale.  At  last  he  summoned  his  courage, 
rose,  went  to  her,  and  dropped  into  a  chair  by 
her  side.  .  .  . 

328 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Stepan  Petrovitch  did  not  stir  as  he  sat  with 
head  thrown  back  in  his  arm-chair. 

"  Pardon  me,  Vyera  Stepanovna," — began 
Vyazovnin,  with  a  certain  amount  of  effort: — 
"  I  am  to  blame;  I  ought  not  to  have  so  suddenly 
....  and  yet  ....  I  had  no  reason,  of  course, 
to  .  .  .  ." 

Vyerotchka  made  him  no  reply. 

"  But  since  it  has  happened  so," — went  on 
Boris  Andreitch,— "  I  should  like  to  know  what 
answer  .  .  .  ." 

Vyerotchka  softly  dropped  her  eyes ;  again  her 
cheeks  flushed  crimson. 

"  Vyera  Stepanovna,  one  word." 

"  I  .  .  .  really,  I  don't  know,  Boris  Andreitch 
. . .  ."—she  began, — "  that  depends  on  papa.  .  .  ." 

"  111?  "—Stepan  Petrovitch's  voice  suddenly 
rang  out. 

Vyerotchka  started,  and  hastily  raised  her  head. 
Stepan  Petrovitch's  eyes,  riveted  upon  her,  ex- 
pressed uneasiness.  She  immediately  went  to  him. 

"  Did  you  ask  me  something,  papa? " 

"111?  "-he  repeated. 

"Who?  I?  No.  .  .  .  What  makes  you  think 
so?" 

He  gazed  intently  at  her. 
Really  well?" — he  continued  his  inquiries. 
Of  course;  how  do  you  feel?  " 

"  Brau,  brau,"— he  said  quietly,  and  again 
closed  his  eyes. 

329 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Vyerotchka  was  walking  toward  the  door,  but 
Boris  Andreitch  stopped  her. 

"  Tell  me,  at  least,  do  you  permit  me  to  speak 
to  your  father?  " 

"As  you  like,"— she  whispered: — "only,  it 
seems  to  me,  Boris  Andreitch,  that  I  am  no  mate 
for  you." 

Boris  Andreitch  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she 
evaded  him,  and  left  the  room.  "  How  strange !  " 
— he  thought. — "  She  says  the  same  thing  as 
Krupitzyn." 

When  he  was  left  alone  with  Stepan  Petro- 
vitch,  Boris  Andreitch  promised  himself  that  he 
would  explain  himself  to  him  in  a  very  judicious 
manner,  and  so  far  as  he  was  able,  prepare  him  for 
the  unexpected  proposal ;  but  when  it  came  to  ac- 
tion, it  proved  to  be  far  more  difficult  even  than 
with  Vyerotchka.  Stepan  Petrovitch  was  slightly 
feverish,  and  being  in  a  condition  which  was 
neither  exactly  meditation  nor  yet  exactly  a  doze, 
replied  reluctantly  and  slowly  to  the  various 
questions  and  remarks,  by  means  of  which  Boris 
Andreitch  was  hoping  gradually  to  lead  up  to 
the  real  topic  of  the  conversation.  ...  In  a  word, 
Boris  Andreitch,  perceiving  that  all  his  hints  were 
being  wasted,  made  up  his  mind,  willy-nilly,  to 
come  straight  to  the  point. 

Several  times  he  inhaled  a  long  breath,  as 
though  preparing  to  speak,  then  stopped  short, 
without  uttering  a  word. 

330 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS 

"  Stepan  Petrovitch,"— he  began  at  last,—"  I 
intend  to  make  you  a  proposal  which  will  greatly 
astonish  you." 

"  Brau,      brau,"— said      Stepan     Petrovitch, 

calmly. 

"  A  proposal  which  you  are  not  expecting  in 

the  least." 

Stepan  Petrovitch  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Only  please  don't  be  angry  with  me. . . ." 

Stepan  Petrovitch's  eyes  opened  wider  than 
ever. 

"  I  ....  I  intend  to  ask  of  you  the  hand  of 
your  daughter,  Vyera  Stepanovna." 

Stepan  Petrovitch  rose  quickly  from  his  Vol- 
taire chair. 

"  What?  "—he  asked,  in  precisely  the  same 
voice,  and  with  precisely  the  same  expression  as 
Vyerotchka. 

Boris  Andreitch  was  compelled  to  repeat  his 
proposal. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  riveted  his  gaze  on  Vyazov- 
nm,  and  stared  long  and  in  silence  at  him,  so  that, 
at  last,  the  latter  became  uncomfortable. 

"Does  Vyera  know?  "—inquired  Stepan  Pe- 
trovitch. 

"  I  have  had  an  explanation  with  Vyera  Stepa- 
novna, and  she  has  given  me  permission  to  address 
myself  to  you." 

"  Have  you  just  had  the  explanation  with 
her? " 

331 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 


(( 


Yes,  a  little  while  ago." 

"  Wait,"— said  Stepan  Petrovitch,  and  left 
the  room. 

Boris  Andreitch  was  left  alone  in  the  eccen- 
tric's study.  He  was  staring,  in  a  numb  sort  of 
way,  now  at  the  walls,  now  at  the  floor,  when 
suddenly  the  trampling  of  hoofs  rang  out 
at  the  porch,  the  door  of  the  anteroom  banged, 
and  a  thick  voice  inquired:  "At  home?  "  Steps 
became  audible,  and  Mikhei  Mikheitch,  with 
whom  we  are  already  acquainted,  burst  into  the 
room. 

Boris  Andreitch  was  ready  to  swoon  with  vexa- 
tion. 

"  Whew,  how  hot  it  is  here!  "—exclaimed  Mi- 
khei Mikheitch,  as  he  dropped  down  on  the  divan. 
— "Ah,  good  morning!  And  where  is  Stepan 
Petrovitch? " 

"  He  has  gone  out;  he  will  be  back  di- 
rectly." 

"It  's  frightfully  cold  to-day,"— remarked 
Mikhei  Mikheitch,  pouring  himself  out  a  glass 
of  vodka. 

And  almost  before  he  had  fairly  swallowed  it, 
he  said  vivaciously: 

"  I  come  from  town  again,  you  know." 

"From  town?  "—returned  Vyazovnin,  with 
difficulty  concealing  his  confusion. 

"  Yes,  from  town," — repeated  Mikhei  Mikhe- 
itch;—" and  all  thanks  to  that  brigand  Omifry. 

332 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Just  imagine,  he  told  me  such  a  damned  pack  of 
lies,  he  set  such  dastardly  wheels  in  motion,  that  ai- 
lullaby,  my  joy!  'I  've  found  such  an  affair  for 
you,'  says  he,  '  the  like  of  which  has  never  before 
existed  in  the  world;  simply— all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  rake  in  the  rubles.'  And  the  affair  ended 
by  his  borrowing  twenty-five  rubles  from  me,  and 
I  dragged  myself  to  town  in  vain,  and  have  ut- 
terly exhausted  my  horses." 

"  You  don't  say  so!  "—muttered  Vyazovnin. 

"  I  tell  you,  he  's  a  brigand,  a  brigand,  if  ever 
there  was  one.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  take  to  the 
road  with  an  iron  ball  hitched  to  a  strap.  Really, 
I  don't  understand  what  the  police  are  about. 
Why,  one  would  be  reduced  to  beggary  by  him 
if  one  went  on  in  that  way,  by  God!  " 

Stepan  Petrovitch  entered  the  room. 

Mikhei  JNIikheitch  began  to  narrate  to  him  his 
adventures  with  Onufry. 

"  And  why  does  n't  somebody  wring  his 
neck?"— he  exclaimed. 

"  Wring  his  neck,"— repeated  Stepan  Petro- 
vitch, and  suddenly  began  to  roar  with  laughter. 

INIikhei  Mikheitch  also  began  to  laugh,  as  he 
looked  at  him,  and  even  repeated:  "  Exactly;  he 
ought  to  have  his  neck  wrung."  But  when  Ste- 
pan Petrovitch  fell  back,  at  last,  on  the  divan,  in 
convulsions  of  hysterical  laughter,  Mikhei  Mi- 
kheitch turned  to  Boris  Andreitch  and  said, 
throwing  his  hands  somewhat  apart: 

333 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  He  's  always  like  that:  he  '11  suddenly  take 
to  laughing,— the  Lord  only  knows  at  what.  He 
has  so  much  arrogance!  " 

Vyerotchka  entered,  all  agitated,  with  red- 
dened eyes. 

"  Papa  is  not  quite  well  to-day,"— she  re- 
marked, in  an  undertone  to  Mikhei  Mikheitch. 

Mikhei  Mikheitch  nodded,  and  thrust  a  bit  of 
cheese  into  his  mouth.  At  last  Stepan  Petro- 
vitch  stopped,  rose,  sighed,  and  began  to  pace 
the  room.  Boris  Andreitch  avoided  his  glances, 
and  sat  as  though  on  pins  and  needles.  Mi- 
khei Mikheitch  began  again  to  abuse  Oniifry 
Ilitch. 

They  sat  down  to  dinner ;  at  table  also,  no  one 
spoke  but  Mikhei  Mikheitch.  At  last,  as  evening 
was  drawing  on,  Stepan  Petrovitch  took  Boris 
Andreitch's  arm,  and  silently  led  him  into  the 
next  room. 

"  Are  you  a  good  man?  "—he  asked,  looking 
him  in  the  face. 

"  I  am  an  honest  man,  Stepan  Petrovitch,"— 
replied  Boris  Andreitch:  —  "  I  can  guarantee  that, 
^and  I  love  your  daughter." 

"You  love  her?    Truly?" 

"  I  do,  and  I  shall  endeavour  to  win  her  love." 

"  You  will  not  get  tired  of  her?  "  Stepan  Pe- 
trovitch put  another  question. 

"Never!" 

Stepan  Petrovitch's  face  contracted  with  pain. 

334 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"  Well,  see  that  you  don't.  .  .  .  You  love  her 
....  I  consent." 

Boris  Andreitch  tried  to  embrace  him,  but  he 
said : 

"  Afterward  ....  good." 

And  wheeling  round,  he  went  to  the  wall. 
Boris  Andreitch  could  see  that  he  was  weeping. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  wiped  his  eyes  without  turn- 
ing round,  then  went  back  to  the  study,  passing 
Boris  Andreitch,  and,  without  looking  at  him, 
he  said  with  his  habitual  smile : 

"  That  will  do  for  to-day,  if  you  please  .... 
to-morrow  ....  everything  ....  that  is  nec- 
essary .  .  .  ." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  hastily  replied  Boris 
Andreitch,  and  entering  the  study  in  his  wake, 
he  exchanged  a  glance  with  Vyerotchka. 

He  felt  joyful  in  soul,  yet  embarrassed  at 
the  same  time.  He  could  not  remain  long  at 
Stepan  Petrovitch's  in  company  with  Mikhei 
Mikheitch ;  he  felt  the  imperative  necessity  of  be- 
ing alone, — and,  moreover,  he  longed  to  see  Piotr 
Vasilitch.  He  departed,  promising  to  return 
the  next  day.  As  he  took  leave  of  Vyerotchka  in 
the  anteroom,  he  kissed  her  hand;  she  gazed  at 
him. 

"  Until  to-morrow," — he  said  to  her. 

"  Farewell," — she  replied,  softly. 

"  So  there,  you  see,  Piotr  Vasilitch,"— said 
Boris  Andreitch,  as  he  concluded  his  recital,  and 

835 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

strode  to  and  fro  in  his  bedroom, — "  something 
has  occurred  to  me.  Why  does  it  frequently  hap- 
pen that  a  young  man  does  not  marry?  Be- 
cause it  seems  to  him  a  terrible  thing  to  enslave 
his  life;  he  thinks:  '  What  's  the  hurry?  There  's 
plenty  of  time;  perhaps  I  '11  wait  for  a  better 
chance.'  And  he  ends,  generally,  by  becoming 
a  grumpy  old  bachelor,  or  he  marries  the  first 
woman  he  hits  upon;  all  that  is  selfishness  and 
pride.  I  shall  never  find  a  better  wife  for  myself 
than  Vyerotchka ;  and  if  she  is  somewhat  lacking 
from  the  side  of  education,  I  shall  make  it  my 
business  to  attend  to  that.  She  has  quite  a  phleg- 
matic disposition,  but  that  's  no  misfortune — 
quite  the  contrary!  That  is  why  I  made  up  my 
mind  so  quickly.  And  thou  didst  advise  me  to 
marry.  But  if  I  have  made  a  mistake,"— he 
added,  then  paused,  and  after  brief  reflection, 
went  on:— "there  's  no  great  harm  done!  My 
life  would  not  have  amounted  to  anjrthing  as  it 
is!" 

Piotr  Vasilitch  listened  in  silence  to  his  friend, 
now  and  then  sipping  from  a  cracked  glass  the 
very  bad  tea  prepared  by  the  zealous  Makedoniya. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  say  something?  "—Boris 
Andreitch  asked  him  at  last,  coming  to  a  halt  in 
front  of  him.  — "  I  certainly  am  talking  prac- 
tically, am  I  not?  Thou  agreest  with  me,  dost 
thou  not?" 

"  The    proposal    has    been    made," —  replied 

336 


I 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS 

Piotr  Vasilitch,  pausing  between  his  words: — 
"  the  father  has  given  his  blessing,  the  daughter 
has  not  refused,  consequently,  further  discussion 
is  useless.  Perhaps  everything  really  is  for  the 
best.  We  must  think  of  the  wedding  now,  and 
not  argue;  but  the  morning  is  wiser  than  the 
evening.  .  .  .  We  will  talk  things  over  in  proper 
style  to-morrow. — Hey!  Who  's  there?  escort 
Boris  Andreitch." 

"But  do  embrace  me;  at  least,  congratulate 
me,"— replied  Boris  Andreitch.  "  What  a  fellow 
thou  art,  really!  " 

"  As  for  embracing,  I  '11  embrace  thee  with 
pleasure." 

And  Piotr  Vasilitch  embraced  Boris  Andre- 
itch. 

"  May  God  give  thee  every  good  thing  on  this 
earth!" 

The  friends  parted. 

"  'T  is  all  because," — said  Piotr  Vasilitch  aloud 
to  himself,  as  he  turned  on  his  other  side,  after 
having  lain  for  some  time  in  bed,—"  't  is  all  be- 
cause he  has  not  been  in  the  military  ser\ace !  He 
has  got  into  the  habit  of  being  capricious,  and 
does  n't  know  the  regulations." 

A  MONTH  later,  Vyazovnin  married  Vj'^erotchka. 
He  himself  had  urgently  requested  that  the  wed- 
ding should  not  be  delayed.  Piotr  Vasilitch  acted 
as  his  best  man.    Vyazovnin  drove  to  Stepan  Pe- 

337 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

trovitch's  every  day  during  that  month;  but  no 
change  was  observable  in  his  demeanour  to  Vye- 
rotchka,  or  in  hers  to  him:  she  had  become  more 
shy  with  him — that  was  all.  He  brought  her 
"  Yury  JNIiloslavsky,"  and  himself  read  aloud 
to  her  several  chapters.  Zagoskin's  ^  romance 
pleased  her;  but  when  she  had  finished  it,  she  did 
not  ask  for  another.  KarantyeiF  came  once  to 
take  a  look  at  Vyerotchka,  who  had  become  the 
betrothed  of  another  man,  and  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  he  came  in  a  state  of  intoxication, 
stared  at  her  uninterruptedly,  as  though  prepar- 
ing to  say  something,  but  said  nothing;  he  was 
asked  to  sing,  and  started  up  some  mournful 
ditty  or  other,  then  began  a  dashing  laj^  flung 
his  guitar  on  the  divan,  bade  every  one  farewell, 
and  on  taking  his  seat  in  his  sledge,  fell  prone  on 
the  hay  with  which  the  bottom  was  spread,  and 
began  to  sob— and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  was 
plunged  in  drunken  slumber. 

Vyerotchka  was  very  sad  on  the  eve  of  the  wed- 
ding, and  Stepan  Petrovitch  also  was  depressed. 
He  had  hoped  that  Boris  Andreitch  would  con- 
sent to  remove  to  his  house  for  permanent  resi- 
dence; but  he  said  not  a  word  about  this  and,  on 
the  contrary,  Boris  Andreitch  proposed  to  Stepan 
Petrovitch  that  he  should  settle  down  at  Vya- 
zovna  for  a  while.    The  old  man  dechned ;  he  was 

^  Mikhail  Vasilievitch  Zagoskin,  a  writer  in  the  thirties  of  the 
nineteenth  century. — TRAhfSLATOR. 

338 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

accustomed  to  his  study.  Vyerotchka  promised 
to  visit  him  once  a  week  at  least.  How  dejectedly 
did  her  father  answer:  "  Brau,  brau!  " 

So,  then,  Boris  Andreitch  began  his  life  as  a 
married  man.  At  first  everything  went  finely. 
Vyerotchka,  being  a  capital  housewife,  estab- 
lished order  in  his  house.  He  admired  her  noiseless 
but  solicitous  activity,  her  perennially  bright  and 
gentle  temper,  he  called  her  "  his  little  Dutch 
woman,"  and  kept  incessantly  repeating  to  Piotr 
Vasilitch  that  he  now  knew,  for  the  first  time, 
what  happiness  was.  It  must  be  noted,  that  Piotr 
Vasilitch,  from  the  day  of  the  wedding,  ceased  to 
come  to  him  so  frequently  as  before,  and  did  not 
sit  so  long  with  him,  although  Boris  Andreitch, 
as  of  yore,  received  him  with  great  cordiality,  and 
Vyerotchka  was  sincerely  attached  to  him. 

"  Thy  life  is  no  longer  what  it  was," — he  said 
to  Vyazovnin,  when  the  latter  affectionately  ac- 
cused him  of  having  grown  cold  toward  him:  — 
"  thou  art  a  married  man,  I  am  a  bachelor.  I 
might  be  in  the  way." 

At  first  Vyazovnin  did  not  contradict  him ;  but 
before  long,  he  gradually  began  to  perceive  that 
he  was  bored  at  home  without  Krupitzyn.  His 
wife  was  not  at  all  in  his  way;  on  the  contrary, 
he  sometimes  quite  forgot  her  existence,  and  for 
whole  mornings  in  succession  he  did  not  say  a 
word  to  her,  although  he  always  gazed  with  satis- 
faction and  tenderness  in  her  face;  and  every 

339 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

time  that  she  walked  past  him  with  her  light  step, 
he  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  which  invariably 
evoked  a  smile  on  her  lips.  The  smile  was  the 
one  which  he  so  loved ;  but  enough  concerning  that 
smile. 

There  was  too  little  in  common  between  them, 
and  he  began  to  divine  this. 

"  Well,  there  's  no  denying  that  my  wife  has 
very  few  resources,"— thought  Boris  Andreitch 
one  day,  as  he  sat,  with  folded  arms,  on  the  divan. 

Vyerotchka's  words,  which  she  had  said  to  him 
on  the  day  he  made  his  proposal,—"  I  am  not  a 
mate  for  you,"— began  to  resound  in  his  soul. 

"  If  I  were  some  German  or  learned  man," — 
he  pursued  his  meditations,— "  or  if  I  had  any 
steady  occupation  which  engrossed  the  greater 
part  of  my  time,  such  a  wife  would  be  a  treasure ; 
but  as  it  is!  Can  it  be  that  I  have  made  a  mis- 
take?" ....  This  last  thought  was  more  tor- 
turing to  him  than  he  had  anticipated. 

When,  that  same  morning,  Piotr  Vasilitch 
repeated  to  him  once  more  that  he  would  not 
disturb  them,  he  was  in  no  condition  to  contain 
himself,  and  blurted  out: 

"  Good  gracious !  thou  dost  not  disturb  us  in 
the  least;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  much  jollier  for  us 
when  thou  art  present  .  .  .  ."  He  came  near  say- 
ing "  much  more  comfortable." — And  it  was 
really  so. 

Boris   Andreitch   gladly   chatted   with   Piotr 

340 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Vasilitch  in  exactly  the  same  manner  as  he  had 
before  his  marriage;  and  Vyerotchka  knew  how 
to  talk  to  him,  but  she  stood  too  greatly  in  awe 
of  her  husband,  and  with  all  her  indubitable  af- 
fection for  him  she  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
him,  how  to  entertain  him.  .  .  . 

In  addition  to  this,  she  saw  that  the  presence  of 
Piotr  Vasilitch  made  him  animated.  The  end 
of  it  all  was,  that  Piotr  Vasilitch  became  an  ab- 
solutely indispensable  person  in  Boris  Andre- 
itch's  house.  He  became  as  fond  of  Vyerotchka 
as  of  a  daughter ;  and  it  was  impossible  not  to  love 
so  amiable  a  being.  When  Boris  Andreitch, 
thanks  to  human  weakness,  confided  to  him  his 
most  intimate  thoughts  and  complaints,  Piotr 
Vasilitch  vigorously  reproved  him  for  his  in- 
gratitude, enumerated  to  him  all  Vyerotchka's 
merits,  and  one  day,  in  reply  to  a  remark  of  Boris 
Andreitch,  to  the  effect  that  he,  Piotr  Vasilitch, 
himself  had  certainly  thought  them  unsuited  to 
each  other,  he  answered  him  angrily  that  he  was 
not  worthy  of  her. 

"  I  have  found  nothing  in  her,"— muttered 
Boris  Andreitch. 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  by  that?  Why,  didst 
thou  expect  anything  remarkable  from  her? 
Thou  hast  found  a  splendid  wife  in  her.  That  's 
what!" 

"  That  is  true,"— hastily  replied  Vyazovnin. 

In  Vj^azovnin's  house,  everything  went  on  as 

341 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

before— peaceably  and  quietly,  because  there  was 
no  possibility  of  quarrelling  with  T^yerotchka — 
not  even  a  misunderstanding  could  exist  between 
her  and  her  husband;  but  the  internal  rupture 
could  be  detected  in  everything.  Thus  is  the  in- 
fluence of  an  invisible  internal  wound  perceptible 
in  a  man's  whole  being.  Vyerotchka  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  complaining;  moreover,  she  did  not, 
even  mentally,  blame  Vyazovnin  for  anything, 
and  it  never  once  entered  his  head  that  she  did  not 
find  it  altogether  easy  to  live  with  him.  Two  per- 
sons only  understood  her  position:  her  old  fa- 
ther and  Piotr  Vasilitch.  Stepan  Petrovitch 
petted  her,  and  gazed  into  her  eyes  with  a  certain 
compassion  when  she  went  to  see  him, — he  did 
not  question  her  about  anything,  but  he  sighed 
more  frequently  as  he  paced  his  room,  and  his 
"  brau,  brau!  "  no  longer  had,  as  before,  the  ring 
of  unperturbed  peace  of  a  soul  which  has  with- 
drawn from  all  that  is  earthly.  Separated  from 
his  daughter,  he  seemed  to  have  grown  paler  and 
thinner. 

Neither  was  what  was  going  on  in  her  soul  a 
secret  to  Piotr  Vasilitch.  Vyerotchka  did  not 
in  the  least  demand  that  her  husband  should  oc- 
cupy himself  with  her,  or  even  chat  with  her ;  but 
the  thought  that  she  was  a  burden  to  him  pained 
her.  One  day,  Piotr  Vasilitch  found  her  stand- 
ing motionless  with  her  face  to  the  wall.  Like 
her  father,  whom  she  resembled  in  an  extraor- 

342 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

dinary  degree,  she  did  not  like  to  display  her 
tears,  and  turned  away  when  she  wept,  even  if 
she  was  alone  in  the  room.  .  .  .  Piotr  Vasilitch 
walked  softly  past  her,  and  afterward  did  not 
allow  her  to  suspect,  from  the  slightest  hint,  that 
he  understood  why  she  had  been  standing  with 
her  face  to  the  wall.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
gave  Vyazovnin  no  peace.  Not  once,  it  is  true, 
did  he  utter  in  his  presence  those  insultingly-irri- 
tating, useless,  and  conceited  words:  "  I  told  thee 
beforehand  exactly  how  it  would  be!"— those 
words  which,  we  may  remark  in  passing,  the  very 
best  of  people  are  unable  to  refrain  from  utter- 
ing in  moments  of  the  most  fervent  sympathy; 
but  he  pitilessly  attacked  Boris  Andreitch  for  his 
indifference  and  spleen,  and  once  worked  him 
into  such  a  state  that  he  ran  to  Vyerotchka,  and 
began  uneasily  to  scrutinise  and  interrogate  her. 
She  looked  at  him  so  gentl}^  and  answered  him  so 
calmly,  that  he  went  away,  inwardly  perturbed  by 
Piotr  Vasilitch's  reproaches,  but  content  that 
Vyerotchka,  at  least,  suspected  nothing.  .  .  . 
So  passed  the  winter. 

Such  relations  cannot  last  long:  they  either 
end  in  a  rupture,  or  undergo  a  change  which  is 
rarely  for  the  better.  .  .  . 

Boris  Andreitch  did  not  become  irritable  and 
exacting,  as  often  happens  with  people  who  feel 
conscious  that  they  are  in  the  wrong,  neither  did 
he  permit  himself  the  cheap  satisfaction  in  which 

343 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

even  clever  persons  frequently  indulge,  of  jeer- 
ing and  ridicule,  and  he  did  not  sink  into  melan- 
choly; he  simply  began  to  be  preoccupied  by  the 
thought,  how  he  might  get  away  from  the  place, 
— for  a  time,  of  course. 

"  Travel!  "  he  kept  repeating  to  himself  when 
he  rose  in  the  morning.  "  Travel!  "  he  whispered 
as  he  went  to  bed:  in  that  word  there  lay  hidden 
seductive  enchantment  for  him.  He  made  an 
attempt  to  frequent  the  society  of  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna,  for  diversion,  but  her  loquacity  and  her 
freedom  of  manner,  her  smiles  and  grimaces, 
seemed  extremely  mawkish  to  him.  "  She  's  not 
to  be  compared  with  Vyerotchka!  "—he  thought, 
as  he  gazed  at  the  showily-attired  widow,  and  yet 
the  idea  of  getting  away  from  that  same  Vye- 
rotchka never  left  him.  .  .  . 

The  breath  of  approaching  spring,— that 
spring  which  draws  and  entices  even  the  birds 
from  beyond  the  sea, — dissipated  his  last  misgiv- 
ings, turned  his  head.  He  went  off  to  Peters- 
burg, on  the  pretext  of  some  weighty  business 
that  could  not  be  postponed,  which  up  to  that 
time  had  never  so  much  as  been  mentioned.  .  .  . 
As  he  took  leave  of  Vyerotchka,  he  suddenly  felt 
his  heart  contract  and  bleed ;  he  felt  sorry  for  his 
kind,  quiet  wife.  Tears  gushed  from  his  eyes,  and 
bedewed  her  white  brow,  which  he  had  just 
touched  with  his  hps.  ..."  I  shall  return  soon, 
very  soon,  and  I  will  write,  my  darling!" — he 

344 


I 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

said  over  and  over  again, — and  committing  her 
to  the  attention  and  friendship  of  Piotr  VasiHtch, 
he  seated  himself  in  his  calash,  profoundly  moved 
and  sad.  .  .  .  His  sadness  vanished  instantly  at 
the  sight  of  the  first  tenderly-green  willows  on 
the  highway,  which  ran  two  versts  distant  from 
his  village ;  an  incomprehensible,  almost  youthful 
rapture  set  his  heart  to  beating  hard;  his  breast 
heaved,  and  he  eagerly  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  far 
distance. 

"Nol"— he  exclaimed;—"!  see  that — 

To  the  same  cart  one  must  not  hitch 
A  war-horse  and  a  timorous  doe.   .   .   ." 

But  what  sort  of  a  war-horse  was  he  ? 

Vyera  was  left  alone;  but,  in  the  first  place, 
Piotr  Vasilitch  called  upon  her  frequently,  and, 
best  of  all,  her  old  father  made  up  his  mind  to 
tear  himself  from  his  beloved  abode,  and  re- 
moved for  a  time  to  his  daughter's  house.  And 
those  three  began  to  live  gloriously  together. 
Their  tastes,  their  habits,  coincided!  And  yet, 
Vyazovnm  not  only  was  not  forgotten  by  them, 
— quite  the  contrary,  he  served  them  all  as  an 
invisible  bond  of  union;  they  talked  incessantly 
about  him,  about  his  cleverness,  his  kindness, 
about  the  good-breeding  and  simplicity  of  his 
manners.  It  was  as  though  they  had  come  to  be 
fonder  than  ever  of  Boris  Andreitch  during  his 

345 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

absence  from  home.  Splendid  weather  set  in; 
the  days  did  not  fly,  no,  they  passed  peacefully 
and  cheerfully,  like  the  bright,  high-hanging 
clouds  in  the  clear  blue  sky.  Vyazovnin  wrote 
rarely;  his  letters  were  read  and  re-read  with 
great  satisfaction.  In  each  of  them  he  spoke 
of  his  speedy  return.  .  .  .  At  last,  one  day,  Piotr 
Vasilitch  received  from  him  the  following  epistle : 

Dear  Friend,  my  very  kind  Piotr  Vasilitch!  I  have 
meditated  long  how  to  begin  this  letter ;  but,  obviously, 
the  best  way  will  be  to  tell  thee  point-blank  that  I  am 
going  abroad.  This  news  will,  I  know,  surprise  thee 
and  even  anger  thee:  thou  couldst  not  possibly  have 
expected  it, — and  thou  wilt  be  doing  quite  right  if  thou 
callest  me  a  light-minded  and  dissipated  man;  and  I"^ 
have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  justifying  myself, 
and  even  at  this  moment  I  feel  myself  blushing.  But 
listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  with  some  lenience.  In  the 
first  place,  I  am  going  for  a  very  short  time  only,  and 
in  such  company  and  on  such  advantageous  terms  as 
thou  canst  not  possibly  imagine  to  thyself;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  I  am  firmly  convinced  that,  after  having 
played  the  fool  for  the  last  time,  for  the  last  time  satis- 
fied my  passion  to  see  and  experience  everything,  I  shall 
become  a  capital  husband,  family  man,  and  stay-at-home, 
and  shall  prove  that  I  know  how  to  value  the  undeserved 
favour  which  Fate  has  done  me  in  conferring  upon  me 
such  a  wife  as  Vyerotchka.  Please  convince  her  of  this, 
and  show  her  this  letter.  I  shall  not  write  to  her  now 
myself:  I  have  not  the  spirit  for  that, — but  I  shall  write 
without  fail   from   Stettin,   to  which  port  the  steamer 

346 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

is  bound ;  and  in  the  meantime,  tell  her  that  I  am  kneel- 
ing before  her,  and  humbly  entreating  her  not  to  grieve 
for  her  stupid  husband.  Knowing  her  angelic  disposi- 
tion, I  am  persuaded  that  she  will  forgive  me;  and  I 
swear  by  everything  in  the  world  that  three  months 
hence,  not  later,  I  will  return  to  Vyazovna,  and  then  you 
won't  be  able  to  get  me  away  from  there  by  force  to  the 
end  of  my  days.  Farewell,  or  rather — good-bye  for  a 
short  time;  I  embrace  thee  and  kiss  my  Vyerotchka's 
charming  hands.  I  will  write  to  thee  from  Stettin, 
where  letters  are  to  be  addressed  to  me.  In  case  of  any 
unforeseen  business,  and  in  regard  to  the  management 
of  the  estate  in  general,  I  depend  upon  thee,  as  upon  a 
stone  wall.  Thy 

Boris  Vyazovnin. 

P.  S.  Order  my  study  to  be  papered  in  the  autumn 
....  without  fail  ....  dost  hear  me? 

Alas!  The  hopes  expressed  by  Boris  Andre- 
itch  in  this  letter  were  not  destined  to  fulfilment. 
Owing  to  .a  multitude  of  cares  and  new  impres- 
sions, he  did  not  find  time  to  write  from  Stettin  to 
Vyerotclika ;  but  from  Hamburg  lie  sent  her  a  let- 
ter, in  which  he  informed  her  of  his  intention  to 
visit  Paris, — for  the  purpose  of  inspecting  sev- 
eral industrial  establishments,  and  also  for  the 
purpose  of  attending  certain  necessary  lectures, 
— and  requested  her  to  address  his  letters  there, 
poste  restante,  for  the  future. 

Vyazovnin  reached  Paris  in  the  morning,  and, 

347 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

having  in  the  course  of  the  day  made  the  round  of 
the  boulevards,  the  garden  of  the  Tuilleries,  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  the  Palais  Royal,  and  hav- 
ing even  ascended  the  Colonne  Vendome,  he 
dined  solidly,  and  with  the  air  of  a  habitue  at  Ve- 
four's,  and  in  the  evening  betook  himself  to  the 
Chateau-des-Fleurs— to  find  out,  in  the  capa- 
city of  spectator,  what  the  "  cancan  "  really  was, 
and  how  the  Parisians  execute  that  dance.  The 
dance  itself  did  not  please  Vyazovnm ;  but  one  of 
the  Parisiennes,  who  had  executed  the  cancan, 
a  lively,  slender  brunette  with  a  snub-nose  and 
bold  eyes,  did  please  him.  He  began  to  stop  be- 
side her  more  and  more  frequently,  first  exchang- 
ing glances  with  her,  then  smiles,  then  words.  .  .  j 
Half  an  hour  later,  she  was  walking  arm  in  arm 
with  him,  had  told  him  son  petit  nom, — Julie j — 
and  had  hinted  that  she  was  hungry,  and  that  no- 
thing could  be  better  than  a  supper  a  la  Maison 
dfOr,  dans  un  petit  cabinet  particulier.  Boris  An- 
dreitch  himself  was  not  hungry  in  the  least,  and, 
moreover,  supper  in  the  company  of  Mademoi- 
selle Julie  had  not  entered  into  his  calculations. 
..."  But,  if  that  is  the  custom  here,"— he 
thought,—"!  must  go.  Partons!" — he  said 
aloud,— but  at  that  moment,  some  one  trod  on 
his  foot  in  a  very  painful  manner.  He  cried  out, 
turned  round,  and  beheld  before  him  a  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  very  thick-set  and  broad-shoul- 
dered, in  a  tight  stock,  and  a  civilian's  coat  but- 

348 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

toned  to  the  throat,  and  full  trousers  of  military 
cut.  With  his  hat  pulled  down  on  his  very  nose, 
from  beneath  which  his  dyed  moustache  hung 
down  in  two  little  cascades,  and  with  the  pockets 
of  his  trousers  outspread  by  the  thumbs  of  his 
hairy  hands,  this  gentleman, — an  infantry  offi- 
cer, by  all  the  tokens — had  riveted  his  eyes 
straight  on  Vyazovnin's  face.  The  expression 
of  his  yellow  eyes,  of  his  rough,  flat  cheeks,  of 
his  bluish,  protruding  cheek-bones,  of  his  whole 
countenance,  was  churhsh  and  insolent. 

"  Was  it  you  who  trod  on  my  foot?  " — said 
Vyazovnin. 

"  Oui,  monsieur.  .  ." 

"  But  in  such  cases  ....  people  beg  pardon." 

"  And  what  if  I  don't  choose  to  beg  your  par- 
don, monsieur  le  Moscovite?  '* 

Parisians  instantly  recognise  Russians. 

"  That  means  that  you  intended  to  insult  me?  " 
— inquired  Vyazovnin. 

''  Out,  monsieur;  I  don't  like  the  shape  of  your 


nose." 


''  Fij,  le  gros  jaloucc! " —  whispered  Mademoi- 
selle Julie,  to  whom,  apparently,  the  infantry 
officer  was  not  a  stranger.  .  .  . 

"  But  in  that  case  .  .  .  ."  began  Vyazovnin, 
as  though  perplexed.  .  .  . 

"  You  mean  to  say," — interposed  the  officer: 
—  "  in  that  case,  we  must  fight.  Of  course.  Very 
good,  sir.    Here  is  my  card.' 

349 


» 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"And  here  is  mine," — replied  Vyazovnin, — and 
without  ceasing  to  wonder,  and  as  though  asleep, 
with  a  confused  beating  of  the  heart,  he  scribbled 
on  the  shining  paper  of  his  visiting-card,  with  a 
gold  pencil  which  he  had  just  purchased  as  a 
trinket  for  his  watch-chain,  the  words :  "  Hotel 
des  Trois  Monarques,  No.  46." 

The  officer  nodded,  remarked  that  he  "  would 
have  the  honour  of  sending  his  seconds  to  M-r. 
.  .  .  M-r."  ...  (he  raised  Vyazovnin's  card  to 
his  right  eye),  "  to  M-r.  de  Vazavononin  "—and 
turned  his  back  on  Boris  Andreitch,  who  imme- 
diately quitted  the  Chateau-des-Fleurs.  Made- 
moiselle Julie  attempted  to  detain  him, — but  he 
looked  very  coldly  on  her.  .  .  .  She  slowly  turned 
away  from  him,  and  for  a  long  time  thereafter, 
sitting  down  apart,  she  was  engaged  in  explain- 
ing something  to  the  angry  officer,  who,  as  before, 
did  not  remove  his  hands  from  his  trousers,  kept 
twitching  his  moustache,  and  did  not  smile.  .  .  . 

On  emerging  into  the  street,  Vyazovnin  read 
the  card  which  had  been  handed  to  him  for  the 
second  time,  and  with  great  attention,  under  the 
first  gas-lamp  he  came  to.  On  it  stood  the  fol- 
lowing words:  '" Alexandre  Lehoeuf,  capitaine 
en  second  au  83-me  de  ligne." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  this  will  have  any  con- 
sequences?"—  he  thought,  as  he  wended  his  way 
back  to  his  hotel.  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  I  shall 
really  fight !    And  for  w^hat  ?  and  on  the  very  day 

350 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

after  my  arrival  in  Paris !  How  stupid ! " — He  be- 
gan letters  to  Vyerotehka  and  to  Piotr  Vasilitch, 
— and  immediately  tore  up  and  threw  away  the 
letters  thus  begun.  "Nonsense!  a  mere  comedy!" 
— he  repeated,  and  lay  down  to  sleep. — But  his 
thoughts  took  another  turn  when,  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  at  breakfast,  two  gentlemen  pre- 
sented themselves  to  him,  who  bore  a  strong  re- 
semblance to  M.  Leboeuf,  only  somewhat 
younger  (all  French  infantry  officers  have  one 
and  the  same  cast  of  countenance) ,  and,  announc- 
ing their  names  (one  was  M-r.  Lecocq,  the  other 
M-r.  Pinochet — and  both  served  as  lieutenants 
''  au  83-me  de  ligne),  introduced  themselves  to 
Boris  Andreitch  in  the  capacity  of  seconds  ''de 
notre  ami,  M-r.  Lehoeuf"  sent  by  him  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  the  requisite  measures,  as  their 
friend,  M-r.  Leboeuf,  could  not  accept  any  ex- 
cuses. Vyazovnin  was  compelled,  on  his  side,  to 
inform  the  officers,  the  friends  of  M-r.  Leboeuf, 
that,  being  a  newcomer  in  Paris,  he  had  not  yet 
had  time  to  look  about  him,  and  provide  himself 
with  seconds  ...  ("  One  is  sufficient,  is  it  not?  " 
—he  added. — "  Entirely  sufficient,"  replied  M-r. 
Pinochet),  and  therefore  he  must  request  the 
officers  to  grant  him  four  hours'  grace.  The  offi- 
cers exchanged  glances,  shrugged  their  shoulders, 
but  consented,  and  rose  from  their  seats. 

"  Si  monsieur  le  desire," — suddenly  remarked 
M-r.  Pinochet,  stopping  short  at  the  door  (of  the 

351 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

two  seconds  he  was,  evidently,  the  more  ready 
of  speech,  and  had  been  commissioned  to  do  the 
talking — M-r.  Lecocq  only  grunted  approv- 
ingly).—'^'^/S'i  monsieur  le  desire/^— he  repeated 
(at  this  point,  Vyazovnin  recalled  M'sieu  Galassi, 
his  Moscow  hairdresser,  who  frequently  employed 
that  phrase)  : — "we  can  recommend  one  of  the 
officers  of  our  regiment,  le  lieutenant  Barhichon, 
un  gar^on  tres  devoue,  who  will  certainly  consent 
to  render  ' a  un  gentleman' "  (M-r.  Pinochet 
pronounced  this  word  in  French  fashion :  zhantle- 
man)  — "  the  service  of  extricating  him  from  a 
dilemma,  and,  on  becoming  your  second,  will  take 
your  interests  to  heaxt—prendra  a  cceur  vos  in- 
terets"  » 

Vyazovnin  was  astonished,  at  first,  by  such  a 
proposition,  but,  on  reflecting  that  he  had  no  ac- 
quaintances in  Paris,  he  thanked  M-r.  Pinochet, 
and  said  that  he  would  expect  M-r.  Barbichon. — 
And  M-r.  Barbichon  made  no  delay  in  presenting 
himself.  This  gar(^on  tres  devoue  proved  to  be 
an  extremely  alert  and  active  individual.  De- 
claring that  ''  cet  animal  de  Lebceuf  nen  fait 
jamais  d'autres  ...  c'est  un  Othello,  monsieur, 
un  veritable  Othello"— he  asked  Vyazovnin: 
"  N'est  ce  pas,  vous  desirez  que  V affaire  soit 
serieuse?  "  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
exclaimed,  "  C'est  tout  ce  que  je  desirais  savoir! 
Laissez-moi  faire! " — And,  in  fact,  he  conducted 
the  affair  in  such  brisk  fashion,  he  took  Vyazov- 

352 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

nin's  interests  so  warmly  to  heart  that,  four  hours 
later,  poor  Boris  Andreitch,  who  had  never  known 
how  to  fence  in  his  life,  was  standing  in  the  very 
centre  of  a  small  glade  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes, 
sword  in  hand,  with  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  and 
without  his  coat,  two  paces  distant  from  his  an- 
tagonist, who  was  similarly  disrobed.  The  scene 
was  illuminated  by  brilliant  sunlight.  Vyazovnin 
was  utterly  unable  to  explain  clearly  to  himself 
how  he  had  got  there;  he  continued  to  repeat  to 
himself :  "  How  stupid  this  is !  how  stupid  this  is !  " 
and  he  felt  conscience-stricken, — as  though  he 
were  taking  part  in  some  vulgar  prank, — and  an 
awkward  smile,  concealed  within,  never  quitted 
his  soul,  while  his  eyes  could  not  tear  themselves 
away  from  the  low  forehead,  and  the  closely- 
clipped  black  hair  of  the  Frenchman  who  tow- 
ered aloft  before  him. 

"  Tout  est  pret! " — rang  out  a  lisping  voice. 
"  Allez! " — squeaked  another  voice. 

M-r.  Leboeuf's  face  assumed  an  expression 
which  was  not  so  much  malicious  as  rapacious. 
Vyazovnm  flourished  his  sword.  .  .  (Pinochet 
had  assured  him  that  ignorance  of  the  art  of 
fencing  gave  him  great  advantages :  "  de  grands 
avantages! ")  .  .  .  then  something  remarkable 
suddenly  came  to  pass.  Something  clashed, 
stamped,  glittered — Vyazovnin  felt  in  the  right 
side  of  his  breast  the  presence  of  some  sort  of 
a  long  cold  stick.  .  .  .  He  tried  to  push  it  away, 

353 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

to  say:  "  I  don't  want  it!  "  but  he  was  abeady 
lying  on  his  back  and  experiencing  a  strange, 
almost  absurd  sensation:  as  though  they  were 
trying  to  extract  teeth  all  over  his  body.  .  . .  Then 
the  earth  softly  slipped  away  from  under  him.  .  . 
The  first  voice  said :  "  Tout  s'est  passe  dans  les 
regies,  nest  ce  pas,  messieurs?" — The  second 
voice  answered : ''  O,  parfaitement! "  And  bang! 
everything  round  about  flew  away,  and  sank 
away.  .  .  .  "  Vyerotchka !  "  Vyazovnin  had 
barely  managed  to  think  dimly. 

Toward  evening,  "  the  devoted  young  fellow  " 
carried  him  to  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Monarques — 
and  during  the  night  he  expired.  Vyazovnin  had 
set  out  for  that  bourne  whence  no  traveller  has 
ever  returned.  He  did  not  recover  his  conscious- 
ness before  death,  and  only  stammered  a  couple 
of  times:  "I  shall  return  directly  ....  this  is 
nothing  ....  now  to  the  country.  .  .  ."  The 
Russian  priest,  for  whom  the  landlord  sent,  re- 
ported the  whole  afl'air  to  our  Embassy — and 
"  the  unfortunate  afl*air  with  the  Russian  trav- 
eller " — got  into  all  the  newspapers  in  a  couple  of 
days. 

Painful  and  bitter  was  it  for  Piotr  Vasilitch  to 
communicate  to  Vyerotchka  her  husband's  letter; 
but  when  the  news  of  Vyazovnin 's  death  reached 
him,  he  lost  his  head  completely.  The  first  per- 
son to  read  about  it  in  the  newspapers  was  Mi- 

354 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

khei  Mikheitch,  and  he  immediately  galloped  off 
to  Piotr  Vasilitch,  in  company  with  Onufry 
Hitch,  with  whom  he  had  succeeded  in  making  up. 
As  was  to  have  been  expected,  he  began  to  shout 
while  he  was  still  in  the  anteroom:  "  Just  fancy, 
what  a  calamity!  "  and  so  forth.  Piotr  Vasilitch 
would  not  believe  him  for  a  long  time ;  but  when 
doubt  was  no  longer  possible,  he  betook  himself 
to  Vyerotchka,  after  waiting  a  whole  day.  His 
mere  aspect — crushed,  annihilated — alarmed  her 
to  such  a  degree  that  she  could  hardly  stand  up- 
right. He  tried  to  prepare  her  for  the  fatal  news, 
but  his  strength  failed  him — he  sat  down,  and 
stammered  through  his  tears: 
"  He  is  dead,  dead.  .  .  ." 

A  YEAR  passed.  Fresh  sprouts  spring  from 
the  stump  of  the  felled  tree;  even  the  deepest 
wound  heals  over;  life  also  replaces  death,  just 
as  it  is  replaced  by  it, — and  Vyerotchka's 
heart  was  somewhat  rested  and  had  recovered 
hfe. 

Moreover,  Vyazovnin  did  not  belong  to  the 
category  of  those  people  who  cannot  be  replaced 
(and  are  there  any  such  people?) — neither  was 
Vyerotchka  capable  of  devoting  herself  forever 
to  feelings  (are  there  any  such  feelings?).  She 
had  married  Vyazovnin  without  compulsion  and 
without  enthusiasm ;  she  had  been  faithful  and  de- 

355 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

voted  to  him ;  but  she  had  not  surrendered  herself 
wholly  to  him ;  she  mourned  him  sincerely,  but  not 
madly  ....  what  more  could  be  required? 
Piotr  Vasilitch  did  not  cease  to  visit  her;  as  of 
yore,  he  was  her  closest  friend,  and  therefore  it 
is  not  in  the  least  surprising  hat,  on  being  left 
alone  with  her  one  day,  he  looked  into  her  face 
and  very  calmly  proposed  that  she  should  become 
his  wife.  .  .  .  She  smiled  in  reply,  and  gave  him 
her  hand.  Their  life  after  the  wedding  flowed  on 
precisely  as  before:  there  was  no  necessity  for 
making  any  change. 

About  ten  years  have  elapsed  since  that  time. 
Old  BarsukofF  lives  with  them,  and  as  he  never 
goes  a  step  away  from  his  grandchildren, — he  has 
three  already,  two  little  girls  and  one  boy,— he 
grows  younger  every  year.  He  even  talks  with 
them,  especially  with  his  pet  grandson,  a  curly- 
haired,  black-eyed  urchin,  named  Stepan  in 
honour  of  him.  The  little  rogue  is  perfectly  well 
aware  that  his  grandfather  adores  him,  and,  in 
consequence  of  this,  he  permits  himself  to  mimic 
his  way  of  walking  about  the  room  and  exclaim- 
ing: "  Brau,  brau!  "  This  prank  always  creates 
great  mirth  in  the  whole  household.   ' 

Poor  Vyazovnin  is  not  forgotten  to  this  day. 
Piotr  Vasilitch  reveres  his  memory,  always  refers 
to  him  with  special  emotion,  and  on  every  con- 
venient occasion  never  fails  to  say  that  the  de- 
ceased loved  this  or  that,  thai  he  had  such  or  such 

356 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

a  habit.  Piotr  Vasilitch,  his  wife,  and  all  the 
members  of  his  household  pass  their  time  in  a  very 
monotonous  manner— peaceably  and  quietly; 
they  enjoy  happiness  ....  because  there  is  no 
other  happiness  on  earth. 


357 


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